Seeing the Full Picture When We Look Back

Seeing the Full Picture When We Look Back

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When darkness tries to roll over my bones
When sorrow comes to steal the joy I own
When brokenness and pain is all I know
I won’t be shaken, no, I won’t be shaken
 “Stand in Your Love” by Josh Baldwin

I sang along to the worship song, not mindlessly but not completely focused either. Suddenly, tears began running down my face, and my brain registered the words my heart was already wrestling. Watching the first online church service of the year, I remembered something that hadn’t made my best-of list for the previous year, my Christmas letter, or my annual photobook for the grandparents.

Like everyone, I’d spent the past few weeks reflecting on one of the most difficult years, searching for any  highlights and favorites, blessings and gratitude. Never one to pretend that life is perfect, I’m usually quick to acknowledge the struggles I’m facing. (Like the year that my daughter broke her leg and spent nearly ten months in some form of a cast? Incredibly difficult, which I told every single person who asked and many who didn’t.) But who wants to hear about the year that my faith was, in fact, deeply shaken?

You can search every shelf, but you won’t find a card that shouts, “Joy to the Lord! This year I doubted God!”

The truth of 2020 for me was that for one of the first times in my life, I questioned God’s goodness. I questioned His sovereignty. I questioned my own adherence to beliefs that weren’t doing a thing in the face of a particular grief.

I also published two books! Took a spontaneous road trip with my husband and kids! Survived working at home while also helping my kids do school at home!

How could all of that be true at the same time? In the same year? How could a big, wonderful, beautiful year also contain some serious anguish and doubt that shook me to my core? How could one small season hold the weight of enormous blessings and crushing burdens?

I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I know it’s true. Last year was ugly and beautiful, disappointing and delightful, and surprising in the best and worst ways. All of the amazing things that happened aren’t less true or less valuable because of my struggle. And the fact that I wrestled with my faith in a new and painful way wasn’t reduced by the fact that I experienced a lot of joy. Our lives are full of both joy and pain — often at the very same time. And that’s okay. We can acknowledge both. We can hold both.

And we can worship God through both.

I’m thankful that song reminded me of the hard parts of last year, because in my efforts to choose joy and focus on the positive through the holidays and my year-end reflections, I’d left out half the story. The good parts of the year are actually richer because of the thread of pain and doubt and struggle that winds through the weeks and months. Only by seeing the good and the hard intertwined and overlapping do I see how faithful God has been to me.

He’s not just here when I’m happy. He’s not just here when I’m grateful. He’s not just here when I’m rock solid, believing with all my heart. He’s here, always, no matter what. He’s here no matter how much my circumstances, my life, my heart change. He’s here, and He never changes.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
Hebrews 13:8 (CSB)

Last year was a lot, and the Lord was there for every good, bad, and in-between bit of it. And I won’t forget it.

How was God faithful to you last year?

 

Can We Dream Again?

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This week, I had the privilege of being a part of some celebrations commemorating the life and legacy of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Also, for the first time, I participated in the The National Day of Racial Healing, and with February, aka Black History Month, right around the corner, I have been reflecting on being God’s voice in my sphere of influence.

In elementary school, I remember being taught about Dr. King and his leadership in the movement to secure human rights for Black and all poor Americans. School lessons presented him as an ambassador for nonviolence and an architect of the civil rights movement. Beyond school, I learned that because of his crusade against global imperialism, his out-spoken opposition to the Vietnam War, and his campaign for the poor, the U.S. government considered Dr. King to be the most dangerous man in America. Almost sixty years after his assassination, we are still gleaning and learning from his revolutionary vision.

Out of all that I’ve learned from his life, I am most inspired by how his speech, “Normalcy Never Again” (from August 28, 1963) was amended. We know this as the “I Have a Dream” speech. Originally, it included nothing about a dream. Though Dr. King had referenced dreams before, he was told by his advisors not to mention them in this speech. But during his oration, singer Mahalia Jackson, The Queen of Gospel, shouted to Dr. King to tell the massive assembly about the dream. Without hesitation, Dr. King launched into an improvisation, resulting in his most recognizable rendering.

I was taught much about Dr. King as a scholar, a pastor, and a revolutionary, and I was very familiar with the vision he spoke of that day:

So even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal . . . 

But when I learned that he was given dreams, the speech spoke to me in an entirely new way. I was enthralled and inspired by his prophetic voice! For me, this meant that Dr. King wasn’t laying out his personal goals or his ideals for the future of America, as I had been taught in elementary school. Instead, he was simply a conduit passing along God’s dream, God’s vision for us and to us. He was resonating God’s voice to ears that needed to hear of a future that encompassed hope and healing for a hurting and confused nation.

Every thought and feeling about our country’s struggle with all kinds of social -isms and schisms have been on full display for a while now. Honestly, I am somewhat relieved to see that the struggle is widespread, as opposed to isolated to a small corner of the country. Widespread means that at least we are wrestling altogether.

But as we do, I wonder, Can we dream again? Who is willing to be a conduit for God’s vision for humanity? While we are learning and unlearning, resisting and advancing, how many of us will simply be His voice — authentically, now, in this moment, for those who need to be inspired by a glimpse of the future? I pray that we have the capacity to reach for dreams that resonate beyond our today to inspire and guide future generations.

The thing about God’s dreams is that they don’t come from a place of fear, trepidation, and reservation. They are given by the One who knows the end from the beginning. They’re fashioned from love, assurance, and generosity, and they propel us forward into the future, fueled by hope. Because we trust the Dream Giver, we can employ faith to follow the visions He gives us.

Despite our rocky road, I believe that we are on the path of manifesting the dream relayed by Dr. King. As I have benefited from the dreams spoken before me, I must also be a voice resonating God’s vision beyond my today.

“In the last days,” God says,
“I will pour out my Spirit upon all people.
Your sons and daughters will prophesy.
Your young men will see visions,
and your old men will dream dreams.”
Acts 2:17 (NIV)

May the future benefit from your God-given dreams, and may you have the courage to speak them into being. 

Choosing Thoughtfulness Over Defensiveness

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I unwrap my brand spankin’ new 2021 calendar, the old timey kind made of card stock that you hang up somewhere like it’s the 1900s. I love new calendars, and I love fresh starts. But this year, I’m disheartened to find several of the same old disturbing problems following me into 2021. Certainly, I find this to be true in my personal life, concerning situations that affect me and my immediate family only. And even with a more wide angle view, I find this to be true on a broader national landscape too, concerning issues that follow and trouble many of us.

The calendar pages display definitive ends to seasons, but real life does not.

Looking out my office’s picture window, I take notice of the snow that’s hanging around in spite of the fact that our last snowstorm was a few weeks ago. One interesting thing about living in Colorado Springs is that while it frequently snows over the course of our fourteen months of winter (haha), it melts quickly. With over three hundred days of sunshine a year, it doesn’t stick around. But this latest snow has stuck around, encouraged to do so by cold temperatures the sun can’t overcome.

In life, too, it can feel like the warmth can’t overcome the cold.

Winter will do what winter does: bring chilly temps and snow. It’s best not to fight the facts on the weather — or our own troubles. While we can always count on God making all things new and hope getting the last word, we aren’t guaranteed right-here-right-now expiration dates on our troubles. We aren’t even guaranteed they will come to an end while we trod along on this broken and beautiful planet.

So, I make a cup of hot sweet and spicy orange tea. I pull out the red and black buffalo check flannel socks and stretch them over my size 11 feet. Even if I don’t particularly relish the season I’m in, I can still do what I can to restore a mindset for the good things it brings.

Chief of these is to get my hind-end in the Word of God each day, because in the words of Ann Voskamp, “God’s Word to you is never a passing word or line — God’s Word is your very lifeline. In tumultuous times, there is only one voice that can calm seas. When the sun rises in the window every morning, it comes on fire with a message to say, The One who is the Word wants to have a word with you.”

I read the Word to communicate with God and to know what He wants to communicate with me. And I read it to best know how to communicate with others too.

I have a choice each and every day: I can demonstrate the light and warmth of Christ to others or I can douse it.

In general, when it comes to processing things, I’m a crockpot set on low. It takes time for me to know how to say what I think about something. But there are those topics and viewpoints that can provoke me to quickly provide a knee-jerk response. And every time I do so, almost without fail, I regret what I say or write. I regret the way I’ve communicated it.

However, every time I’ve taken a beat (or a day or a weekend) to think about what I want to communicate, I’ve never regretted it. Pausing before posting doesn’t lessen the validity of my viewpoint or the courage of my conviction. But it lessens any biting tone or defensiveness I might bring to the conversation.

In general, I want to be one who engages with thoughtfulness rather than defensiveness. I want to reflect Christ by dealing with and not deflecting from the matter at hand.

So, the next time I read something and think, “Hmmm, I don’t really agree with that!” I will remember I have a choice in how I respond. Will I bring a spirit of dignity or divisiveness to the conversation? This doesn’t mean I pretend to agree with someone whose opinion is different from mine. No, I can bring dignity to the conversation and still disagree with what is said. However, I want to do this from a place where the Holy Spirit leads me to respond rather than Kristen reacting with her Big Important Opinion. When I refuse to slam out an immediate response, my words are more likely to reflect dignity over defensiveness.

It’s late afternoon now, and golden shafts of sunlight brighten up the snowy landscape. While I may not be able to control one whit of what’s going on outside my window, I can control how I respond to it.

Through word and action, I can choose to be the way someone else experiences the warmth of Christ. And in one small way, I contribute to a more hopeful season, no matter the calendar date.

Go Ahead and Light the Candles

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As a new year begins and we say goodbye to all that 2020 held, I find myself returning to the lesson of a lit candle.

For years, I stored half a dozen candles in a cabinet, always waiting for a “better day” or the “best time.” Each unlit wick told the story: at some point along the way, I began to act as if candles are only meant for parties, celebrations, or magical moments. Regular life was extra ordinary — rarely extraordinary — and so they sat gathering dust day after day, month after month.

Instead of savoring them, I saved them. And then in the middle of one of those regular days, two questions began to stir inside, refusing to let go while gently offering a new lens to look through: What if I chose to live like the ordinary of right now is beautiful? What if I slowed down long enough to appreciate the small things, to count each one as grace?

Nothing about my circumstances changed, yet everything, even the candles stored away in a cabinet, suddenly held a hint of possibility and promise. While I waited for a “better” day, grace patiently waited for me to open my eyes and accept the invitation to slow down, see, and savor the small gifts that were hidden in plain sight.

They were always there, as easy to find as a child playing hide-and-seek, the curtain shaking with giggles as tiny toes stick out underneath.

For far too long, I overlooked the beauty of the ordinary while waiting and wanting for something more, something bigger, something better. It wasn’t until I began to see there’s always meaning in the mundane and glory in what seems common that I reached for the lighter and watched wisps of smoke waft into the air.

It’s simple and it’s small, and much like using the “good china” for a regular Tuesday evening meal, lighting a candle won’t change the world. But it changes how I see the world. Maybe, in some small way, those are the same thing. Maybe, when looking through a lens of grace, the ordinary becomes extraordinary one flickering flame at a time.

Here at the beginning of a new year, after many months of collective heartbreak, change, and loss, it’s a lit candle and a now-empty cabinet that remind me of an old truth: Light is always breaking through, and even in the dark, there is One who is making all things new.

In Matthew 5, Jesus says, “You are the light of the world — like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.”

The God who often chooses the small things (1 Corinthians 1:28) paints a picture with everyday household items, calling us not to hide or to worry or to wait for a better day, but to be a light in the darkness in the most ordinary of ways.

Lighting a candle is not the answer to all our problems. It won’t end world hunger, solve global warming, eliminate human trafficking, or provide a solution to a global pandemic. But when it seems like the world is going up in flames, perhaps the small and simple act of lighting a candle on a regular day is one way to push back the dark.

Maybe this right here is holy.

Maybe this is the better day, the special occasion.

No matter what this year may bring, may we savor the small things as we look through a lens of grace. Let’s light candles to celebrate, to lament, to mark this ordinary moment as worthy of beauty. After all, hope often grows in the dark, and Light always, always wins.

 

An invitation: I imagine that today, much like the last week and month and year, holds big feelings for every single one of us. No matter what you’re feeling today, I invite you to the small and simple act of lighting a candle. Let’s be women who savor the small and look through a lens of grace. (If you post a picture of your flickering flame on Instagram, tag @kaitlyn_bouch and @incourage so we don’t miss it.)

Reflections on My Relationship with Stuff

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My mother liked to say that stuff is a good Bible word. Although it sounds casual and not-very-biblical, stuff is found in thirteen verses in the King James Version, such as 1 Samuel 25:13 which says, “. . . and there went up after David about four hundred men; and two hundred abode by the stuff.” When my family sold our home of fifteen years and bought another at the end of November, it revealed a lot about my relationship with stuff, not only the areas where my relationship with it is healthy but also the ways I’ve allowed stuff to become an idol to people or times past.

When my mother, grandmother, and great-aunts all passed away within a short span of years, it felt like the guardians of my family history were gone. I couldn’t rely on my memories alone, so I turned stuff into shrines. Quilts that the women in my family meticulously stitched by hand were put away and preserved as relics of the past. The heavy green crystal goblets my mother used every day of my childhood were carefully boxed and stored in our basement.

I treated family heirlooms as sacred objects instead of enjoying them the way they were intended. The women they represented were no longer physically present in my life and I preserved these objects in honor of their memory. In my desire to ensure no harm would come to my family’s treasures, I guaranteed they could no longer perform the everyday functions for which they were designed.

In addition to stuff with obvious value, I also kept things — for sentimental reasons — that I’m sure the original owners would have already discarded. These objects do not embody my family and compiling junk does not honor them. In our new house, we no longer have a basement, so it quickly became clear that finding a place to store them would be overwhelming (if not impossible) if we want to keep a neat, uncluttered home.

I’ve finally had to face the uncomfortable truth: my shrine of stuff wasn’t a space issue, it was a heart issue. I no longer have room to spare for objects that serve no purpose in our lives. I over-invested in untouchable, earthly treasures for too long.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
Matthew 6:20-21 (KJV)

When I filled the kitchen cabinets in our new kitchen, I unpacked my mother’s crystal goblets and placed them on an easily-accessible shelf. We use them every day now. I’m sure she would be pleased.

I’ve carefully washed and freshened one of our treasured quilts and used it for the first time. I plan to put it on the bed in our guest room, where the handiwork of my ancestors will cover my children and grandchildren in sleep. The thought makes me smile. Surely this is as it was intended to be.

I asked the Lord to give us opportunities to be generous in our new home: to help us create a place filled with warmth and hospitality. That requires us to release and use the things we have rather than holding tight and hoarding them.

In these introspective early days of the new year, I invite you to join me as I continue to examine my relationship with stuff.

Have you preserved treasures that should be used or saved items that should be released?

 

If you want to learn more about natural health for you and your family this year, Dawn’s book It All Began in a Garden might be just what you need.

Shame Grows in the Dark

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I was five years old when I sat naked in the empty bathtub of my neighbor’s basement bathroom and asked her why she was stuffing a towel at the bottom of the door. She responded, “I don’t want my dad to know we’re in here.”

The memories of what occurred between me and my thirteen-year-old friend are fuzzy and fractured, but the feeling of shame comes to me vividly.

Not yet in the first grade, shame became my constant companion — a grim shadow that whispered, “You’ll never be good enough or smart enough or pretty enough.” On the days the shadow felt strongest, I felt weakest.

I lived with my shadowy companion and watched as it darkened milestones, celebrations, and relationships. It told me who I was and who I couldn’t be. It told me hope is wishful thinking and love is a fairy tale. It disguised cynicism as realism, and it coached me how to be the best at seeing the worst.

After suffering under shame’s firm hand for many years, I finally looked behind me at the darkness and mustered the courage to pull my shame into the light in front of me. In the light, I could finally see it for what it was.

As a child, I would leap to my bed after turning off the light, imagining the monsters lurking in the dark. As an adult, I find myself still imagining the worst when darkness invades my life. An overactive imagination can shift from the darkness outside of us to the darkness inside of us.

Shame causes us to hide parts of ourselves in the dark where we cannot see the truth. We forget what is true and real about ourselves and believe lies.

I believed things like:
· God won’t forgive me.
· Grace is for other people, not me.
· If people really knew me, they wouldn’t love me.
· This is what I deserve after the choices I made.

In the dark, these lies continue to grow until they smother the truth.

Bringing my shame to the light began with sharing my life story with a small group of women in a healing discipleship program called Freedom Session. As I shared the highs and lows of my life story and fought to keep reading through blurry eyes, the women responded with empathy and acceptance.

The voice of shame that used to snide, “If people really knew you, they wouldn’t love you” was a liar.

That first step gave me the courage to confess every painful, shame-filled part of my life to a friend and then to my husband. It was a deep confession — a painful confession. Yet neither one judged me for what I did or what others did to me.

They showed me grace, forgiveness, and unconditional love — the same things shame had always told me were out of my reach. Knowing the truth set me free (John 8:32), and I experienced a complete healing of my shame. There were no secrets left in my life; there was no fear that I would be “found out.”

That chapter of my life revealed a stark before and after story of dark versus light — of shame versus grace. Having an intimate knowledge of living life in the dark drives me to quick confession now. I still sin and fall short, but it’s easier for me to bring all the ugly parts of myself to God because the sting of conviction and confession pale compared to the pain of sin left to linger in the shadows.

Ken Dyck (the creator of the Freedom Session program) says that sadness, not bitterness, is the healthy response to our past pain. I believe we can say the same for our shame.

When I felt burdened by shame, I couldn’t feel sadness for my past and what I experienced. My shame told me that everything was my fault and I needed to punish myself for it. This deepened the pain and delayed my healing.

When I handed my shame over to God, I received the gift of sadness. We rarely want to feel sadness, but it’s a gift of grace. It allows us to extend God’s mercy and compassion towards ourselves.

If you’ve spent time in counseling or therapy, as I have, your therapist may have prompted you to do an exercise where you picture a moment of your childhood that triggers your pain, shame, or fear. Then, you were told to imagine yourself sitting beside the child you, offering the love and protection that you didn’t feel in the past moment.

It’s a powerful exercise.

It’s an image I bring to my conscious mind whenever I feel overcome by uncomfortable emotions. Sadness for my past drives me to wrap my adult arms around the five-year-old version of me and tell her I love her. Sadness heals what shame destroys.

When we bring our shame into the light, we experience God’s all-encompassing grace that destroys our self-loathing and expands our self-compassion. In the light, we can finally see ourselves — and our pain — through the loving eyes of our Heavenly Father.

Fellowship with God and My Word for the Year

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There is something about a new year and the turning of a calendar that gives me a sense of hope. I don’t think the world as a whole will suddenly change overnight. But I am reminded that God unfolds His plans slowly and steadily. He isn’t in a hurry like most of us are. He isn’t as concerned with an end goal as much as the process.

I spent the last few days of 2020 thinking about what my word for this year would be and what God might want to do in and through me. Without fail, our faithful God repeatedly confirmed the word through sermons, a podcast, and in worship. The word was consecrate.

To consecrate means to make or declare something sacred or to dedicate something formally to a religious or divine purpose. At first, I was a bit overwhelmed by the word, but after talking with some trusted older women in my life, I knew it was the right word. It’s the word I need for this year.

In 2020, I didn’t experience the same kind of pain or trauma as the vast majority of the world did. I had a great deal of normalcy with some minor inconveniences. The hard season I walked through much of last year had nothing to do with the pandemic. I wholeheartedly believe God wanted me to return to close communion with Him without all the distractions of the world, and I know I didn’t do a good job of that. Any of the extra free time I had I quickly occupied with TV shows and movies and friends and even church activities.

With my word for the year, I believe the Lord is giving me another chance. It will be my choice to engage in a deeper fellowship with Him. There are a million and one things in the world that I can’t control, but what I can control is where I place my faith, hope, and trust.

My word comes from Isaiah 44. In this chapter God speaks a spiritual blessing over Israel and reminds them of His preeminence and His promise of restoration.

And like Israel, in Christ, we are consecrated unto Him and set apart for His glorious purposes. In Him, we belong to the Lord.

This one will say, ‘I am the Lord’s’;
another will use the name of Jacob;
still another will write on his hand, ‘The Lord’s,’
and take on the name of Israel.”
Isaiah 44:5 (CSB)

We live in this world but are not of it. If nothing else, 2020 reminded me that I am a citizen of heaven. When all of this temporary and fleeting existence around me passes away, I will still be here. You will still be here. We will live with the Lord for all eternity. My hope should never rest in what is seen. My hope is literally the man Christ Jesus. And He is your hope as well. He never changes. He is faithful forever and always. We are His, bought with His precious blood, and sealed into covenant with Him until the day of redemption.

He feeds on ashes.
His deceived mind has led him astray,
and he cannot rescue himself,
or say, “Isn’t there a lie in my right hand?”

Remember these things, Jacob,
and Israel, for you are my servant;
I formed you, you are my servant;
Israel, you will never be forgotten by me.
I have swept away your transgressions like a cloud,
and your sins like a mist.
Return to me,
for I have redeemed you.
Isaiah 44:20-22 (CSB)

Too often I am fooled into believing something or someone else can be my savior. I look to friends or leaders. I look to positions or titles. I look to wealth and accumulating possessions. I may even look to political parties and candidates. Sadly, I even look to myself for all of the answers. All of those things in my life are a shaky foundation, because Christ alone can be my Savior — and yours too.

Before the foundations of the world, God had the intention to form us in our mother’s womb, forgive our sins, and restore relationship with Himself. That plan has stood the test of time because it’s His Word. His Word always goes forth and accomplishes its purpose. It never returns void.

Perhaps more than ever before, we can see our need for a Savior. We will never find salvation in earthly people or things. Our only hope is Jesus. Our salvation lies in His death and resurrection, and our restoration is guaranteed through the continuing work of the Holy Spirit.

. . . who says to Jerusalem, “She will be inhabited,”
and to the cities of Judah, “They will be rebuilt,”
and I will restore her ruins.
Isaiah 44:26 (CSB)

God is in the restoration business. It’s just one of the many things He does best. When we sin, when we miss the mark, the Father is always waiting with arms wide open for us to return to Him. That is what I am going to do this year. I’m returning to solitude and lingering in His presence, to diving deep into Scripture and listening for His still small voice.

Last year, I let other voices including my own grow louder than the voice of the Holy Spirit. I drifted away from fellowship with Him into the arms of other loves. But each new day brings new mercy. I pray that this year is marked by considerable time spent with our eyes locked on the One who sees us. He is where we find our identity, forgiveness, redemption, and hope.

Have you chosen a word or verse for the year? If so, what is it and why?

The Wonder of God’s Intimate Knowledge of Us

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O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!
Psalm 139:1-6 (NLT)

So many of us have felt lonely during this pandemic and before it as well. And at the core of the loneliness is often the idea that we are not known by someone. Even if we were in a crowd of people or with a group of friends, we can still feel lonely because we may not have a deep relationship with them or the time together didn’t foster the intimacy we ache for.

This where Psalm 139 is a balm.

God knows our hearts and minds. He knows where we are and all of our restlessness to be somewhere else. He knows our thoughts — not to condemn us — so that when we are without words, He still understands. God goes before us, is with us, and assures us of His presence, His blessing on us.

God is our everything. When we are lonely, remember we have a God who knows us intimately and loves us wholeheartedly.

Don’t Dismiss What This Past Year Held

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Most of the time, I am right alongside the people ready to put the old year behind us and excited to start a new year. Forget the old! Start fresh! We are getting a reboot! I’m usually ready to break out a new notebook and make some resolutions, set intentions and goals, choose a word of the year, and create bucket lists. The point is to forget the last year and focus on what will be ahead.

But since this new year started, I’ve been thinking differently. I don’t want to do what I usually do. And maybe what I share will make you think about things differently as well.

I want to carry this past year with me. I don’t want to sweep it under a rug or pretend none of it happened. I want the memories of this past year to be my reminders of hope and the proof of my courage this year. 

You might be thinking, Where in the world is she going to pull hope and courage out of all the awful of 2020? And it’s true. So much was dark and sad and scary. There were struggles and unknowns, heartbreak and fear, never-ending valleys and constant change. There is no other way to say it, last year was brutal, painful, and heavy.

But let’s take a moment to recognize how far we’ve come. Even though it seemed impossible to make it through, we did. Look at what we’ve survived to make it to where we are today. Think about all the things we did that we never thought we would’ve been able to do, let alone need to do. Did you become a homeschooler? Did you get crazy creative with food in your pantry? Did you learn to make an income stretch further? Did you spend huge amounts of time alone with your spouse or kids? Did you work from home and resist giving hugs?

We went through so much. We worked hard and poured ourselves out. We learned how strong we are and how to hold onto the light when the dark seems all encompassing. We saw that we can be brave and courageous and to stand tall through the difficult. We stayed the course when we felt like giving up. We may have pleaded with God every day for the strength to keep going, but we see now that He upheld us.

After everything we’ve been through, we still have so much hope. If we take away the celebrations and unrealistic resolutions of a new year, we’re left with hope that the days ahead can be better, that good things can come even still.

We don’t know how things are going to turn out or what lies ahead for any of us. We don’t know how long this heavy season will last or how many more changes will be coming. But we will make it through because we have the courage — perhaps more now than ever before — to trust God. We have evidence and testimonies that we can trust Him.

Trust in Him gives us hope, so let’s not dismiss what this past year held. Let’s not forget everything He’s brought us through. Let’s remember how we depended on Him each step of the way thus far and that we can keep going — one day at a time, making the best of every situation, being courageous no matter what we face.

What a year we’ve had! God has walked you through it all, and He will do it again. You’ve got this! You really do. 

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.
Joshua 1:9 (NIV)

Announcing the Courageous Simplicity Online Bible Study!

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We are so excited, friends, to start off this year steeping our hearts and minds in God’s Word, and we hope you’ll join us! Starting February 1, we invite you to join us as we journey through God’s Word. We’ll dig into Courageous Simplicity, the first of four Bible studies coming this year from (in)courage. There will be interactive discussions, videos from our devotion authors, and more!

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: Abide in the Simple Abundance of Jesus is about learning to fix our eyes and our lives on Jesus Christ. On our own, we can’t do enough or be enough, but with God, we have everything we need. 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.

Here’s what you need to know:

1.  You will need a copy of Courageous Simplicity to participate in the study.

2. You’ll also need to officially sign up for the study — just click here to register, and when you do we will send you the first week of the study for free!

3.  The study starts February 1, will run for six weeks in a private Facebook group, and will consist of readings, discussion, and weekly videos. Sign up and watch your email, especially on January 22nd when we send out the link to the private Facebook group.

4.  There will be a weekly email recap sent out throughout the study, so if you do not have Facebook, you’re still able to access the videos. Share this page with your friends (with or without Facebook) so they can study with you!

We can’t think of a better way to dive into 2021 than by reading God’s Word with friends! This is where women are changed, empowered, and set free! This is how God equips us to courageously live out our calling as His daughters — by allowing Scripture to sink deep into our hearts and the Holy Spirit to transform our lives, one day at a time. Digging into Scripture together — with real-life friends and sisters from around the world — makes it that much sweeter.

We so hope you’ll be a part of this special online Bible study — sign up here!

Why I Need to Start the Growing Process Now

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I’ve been thumbing through my recent book order — a revised and expanded edition of how to raise and sell cut flowers the organic way. The irony is that I don’t really need an expanded version. There’s nothing in my repertoire to expand since my success rate with gardening is pretty abysmal. Springtime always sprouts my grandiose lifestyle dreams of living off our land all “Little House on the Prairie” like, but by July, practicality sets in and the reality of North Carolina scorching summers deem me too lazy to have such high aspirations. (Chuckle at this experiment from years ago.)

I want this year to be different, but I wonder what will finally spark change. While January typically holds fresh ideas, goals, and inspiration, I’m still limping along. I question how I can still feel this way, but I know many of you understand. For months I’ve been preaching to myself the need to give myself grace. Often I repeat my motto, “Grace on, Guilt off.” While it’s okay to admit that we’re a bit fragile as we continue to balance the isolation and tension that COVID challenges raise, the Holy Spirit has also convicted me, “Jen, you can’t stay in a season of short cuts. Trust me and do the hard things.”

So as I glance out the window, frost glistens on our grass with a crystalized beauty, but everything else is brown, dirty, and dead. Flowers are a long way off. Snapped branches and downed trees lay toppled from a recent ice storm alongside mounds of mud that our mischievous dogs had dug. It feels overwhelming to even start.

Yet amidst this barren scene, something new is stirring. The first chapter of my gardening book prioritizes the critical importance of the soil preparation. To the naked eye there’s no beauty to be found in the drudgery of manual labor, yet without an entire season focused on tilling, mulching, fertilizing, and composting, nothing much grows except weeds. History speaks to the plethora of weeds in my garden, and I’m certain this is why my homesteading lifestyle never amounted to much. I love my short cuts.

In January and February when everything is dark and dreary, cold and hard, I’ve never invested the time necessary to allow my crops to flourish. I tend to jump over that part. I procrastinate until spring when the weather is beautiful. I wait until working outside brings a spring to my step, and I envision filling my vintage mason jars with cut flowers that I grew myself just like the cover of my gardening book. But 300 pages in, I realize the hard work starts when the ground appears dead. If I want flowers to flourish this summer, I need to start now with work behind the scenes that no one witnesses.

So I’m starting something new. I spent this week outside — cold and lonely — tilling, digging, and planting unique bulbs. I hated it. Honestly, I kept assuming I’d grow to love the process, but nope. It’s not happened yet. There are no guarantees it ever will, but I’m putting in the hard work, only worrying about those things that I can control and burying the excuses I’ve held onto for so long.

Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.
Colossians 2:7 (NLT)

Now I wait for these flower roots to grow deep. Sometimes the hardest work begins in the waiting, but I’m hopeful, expectant, and still giving myself lots of grace. Though I’m focused on the physical act of gardening, I’m convicted again of how it mimics my spiritual life.

My desire is for others to see the love of Jesus in me so clearly, but I can’t expect my roots to grow deep and flourish with joy, peace, and gratitude amidst increasingly difficult times if I’m not willing to discipline myself and prioritize the necessary time with the Lord. To understand and step into living within the fullness of His nature, I must know Him intimately. That requires time with Him, and not just reading an Instagram post about Him. It requires discipline. My free spirit personality doesn’t like discipline. I wish I could wrap this concept up in a cozy New Year’s bow, but that kind of discipline is hard, my friends. In many aspects of my life, whether I’m working on a physical, spiritual, or emotional goal, it often feels painful.

No discipline seems enjoyable at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.
Hebrews 12:11 (CSB)

Did you catch that? For those trained, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace. It’s worth the exhaustion to cultivate our beings.

So when I’m feeling fragile, God is my only foundation. When anxiety sets in, He is the answer. When moments of doubt erupt, His truth is what moves those mountains.

Being rooted in His Word and remaining in His Spirit brings the redemption story to life. It sparks a rebirth and revival which is what I’m seeking for 2021. Aren’t you?

There are no guarantees for this next season and I still have much more to do, but it starts amidst the work and the waiting. The beautiful tension that’s always found before things flourish.

Will you join me in starting? When the spring flower blooms, we’ll remember their beauty began long ago with dedicated hours of work and waiting about which no one knew. Come find me then. I’ll let you know what’s growing in my garden.

To the Church: It’s Our Time, and the Time Is Now

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For many years, our family has attended a small country church that sits about a mile from our rural Iowa home. Nestled among farmfields, our church has its own cemetery across the road.

Whenever I tell people from other parts of the United States and the world about our church, they are fascinated. We worship with people ranging in age from infancy to nearly 100 years old. Some Sundays, we sing hymns out of the old hymnal. Other Sundays, we sing contemporary songs that we play on screens at the front of the church.

At least once a month, I have the privilege of selecting the songs that we sing, and I project them onto TV screens attached to the wall. I call myself the church deejay. And Deejay Jenny Lee likes to play it loud when she drops a beat.

The people who attend our church don’t come for the technical effects on-stage or the worship band (we don’t have either). At Christmas, baby Jesus is a doll pulled from the toy bin in the nursery. I like to think the people who show up on Sunday do so for some solid teaching and to catch up with the down-home folks who look you in the eye when you’re talking with them.

Our church is a place where six generations of believers (sometimes from the same family line) have been baptized, confirmed, shepherded, married, comforted, held, and even buried. It’s a place where real people encounter the sustaining love of Jesus Christ.

And it happened because people showed up and kept showing up, kept sharing Christ’s love, kept humbling themselves before God, kept serving, kept learning, kept diligent in the faith —

Even when it was hard.
Even through wars.
Even through the Depression.
Even through intense personal trial, addiction, heartbreak, and devastation.

They kept showing up.

One morning recently, before my husband headed out the door for farm chores, he came into the kitchen to tell me what he’d just read in his daily Bible reading. Here it is: only one generation after Joshua led the Israelites into their God-given homeland, the people stopped following God.

The people of Joshua’s generation died, and the next generation did not know the LORD or any of the things he had done.
Judges 2:10 (CEV)

One generation! That was it.

The people stopped remembering. They stopped worshipping. They stopped practicing the faith. They stopped telling the next generation what God had done.

Deejay Jenny Lee is about to get her preach on:

This is our time, friends. We are the next generation. We are the ones with the duty of remembrance and the responsibility of passing down what we’ve learned about the saving grace of Jesus.

It’s on us. If we don’t do it, who will? Will we be the people who stopped remembering?

I understand that not everyone can physically be in a church right now due to the coronavirus, and I know that kingdom work isn’t limited to a building of worship. Many of us, including our family, have had meaningful moments of worship and faith growth around computer screens in 2020. So I am certainly not suggesting that we all run back to church and start hugging one another and breathing on each other. But I am suggesting that we take some time to think about what “church” and corporate worship will look like in the months and years ahead.

Social researchers predict that many church members who previously attended in-person services will not return to the physical service after the pandemic is over. Of course, people can continue to engage in meaningful ways online.

But wherever we are and however we worship, we have the duty and privilege of carrying forth the gospel. I’ll say it once more: it’s on us. We are the generation.

What if we were known as a generation who kept its eyes focused on Jesus in this time of trial?

What if we were known as a generation who did our part, so “that a people not yet created may praise the Lord” (Psalms 102:18)?

What if we were known as a generation who kept serving, kept learning, kept diligent in the faith — like our forefathers and foremothers before us?

The torch has been passed. The time is now. Let’s not go down in history as the generation who forgot it all.

 

What’s Still True When You’re Not “Fine”

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On a recent morning I told God I wasn’t fine. Nope, I was tired of stupid COVID-19. Frustrated over being far away from my family. Grieved over people being mean on social media. Maybe you can relate?

I used a roll of toilet paper as tissue because that’s what we do in our house (so if there’s another shortage not only will I not be able to pee, I won’t be able to cry properly either). I got up and paced across the room. At one point I paused to read the little canvas sign on my desk I’ve had for a decade now. It says, “She knew that many were the plans in her heart but that God’s purpose would prevail” (based on Proverbs 19:21).

Did I still know many were the plans in my heart but God’s purpose would prevail? Right now in this moment? True confession: The past year has been hard on my faith. I’ve wrestled with questions, struggled with doubts. I’ve said to God more than ever, “I don’t get it” and/or “I don’t like it.”

I talked to someone recently who implied I wasn’t supposed to have doubts or certain emotions. It upset me so much I had to leave for a few minutes and go for a walk to calm down. As a licensed counselor, I’ve studied the neuroscience behind what we feel and why God biologically created us with emotions. They aren’t good or bad; they’re simply messengers. (Even anger, which is often criticized the most, tells us there’s been an injustice, a goal blocked, or value violated.) It’s what we do in response to our emotions that matters.

Also, I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression throughout my life. In 2018 and 2019 I had a season of remission — my longest ever. But with all that’s going on in this world, I’ve had to fight harder than ever not to relapse. I’m still standing, but I’ve not won the battle every day. Statistics say I’m not the only one, that a third of Americans are experiencing clinical levels of anxiety and depression right now. Really, considering all we’re going through as humanity, it’s understandable. Sometimes we can do all the right things, but life happens and we struggle.

So when I asked myself, “Do I know that many are the plans in my heart but that God’s purpose would prevail?” what I really meant was, “Do I feel this way today?” The honest answer? No. Not at all. I felt weary, confused, a bit lonely, anxious, and like I just wanted a cookie.

And that’s okay. God knows our emotions are complex. He built our brains, breathed life into our fallible human bodies, gave us a fight-or-flight response. The way we feel isn’t proof of whether or not our faith is real. (Although it might be proof we need a nap.)

What was proof of my faith? That I was ugly-snot-crying into toilet tissue telling God I didn’t understand what the heck He was doing and furthermore that I wasn’t sure I liked it and maybe He could just hurry up and fix the whole world, starting with me. (It seems the Psalmist often did the same, only with fancier words and no toilet tissue.)

The word “know” in Scripture is often deeper than intellectual facts; it’s about intimacy. It’s about vulnerability and laying ourselves bare, holding nothing back. So, in that sense, the answer to my question was “yes.” Somewhere deep down I still knew, still believed God wasn’t done with the world or me yet. I think you do too — even if right now you’re wiping away tears, yelling at the sky, dodging doubts, or your soul feels as numb and unnerving as a foot that’s fallen asleep.

It’s okay to have whatever emotions we do, or none at all, but there’s one thing I don’t want us to embrace: shame. Shame over our anxiety and depression. Shame over our “lack of faith.” Shame over how we can’t get stuff done. Shame that comes from thinking we must be the only one.

We’re in a hard place, all of us, and we’re going to make it through. We’re going to heal, regain our strength, even dream again. But right now we’re still in the messy middle. So for one more day we fight on, cry, laugh, yell, pray. Because we know, we still know that many are the plans in our hearts but that God’s purpose will prevail.

Holley’s new book is on sale! The Powerful Purpose of Introverts: Why the World Needs You to Be You ebook is only $1.59 (for a limited time). Already have a copy? Gift an ebook to your favorite introverts!

You’re Right Where You’re Supposed to Be

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The Christmas tree still stands happy and bright at our house, the wreath still hangs on the door, and half the neighborhood must feel the same way I do: I’ll get to it, but just not yet.

Most years, I relish the first few days of the new year. I set aside a couple of hours to sit down with my planner, a goal-setting journal, and a cup of coffee. I plug headphones into my ear, closing myself off from the noise of the world (i.e. the living room where my desk is), and I enter into intentional me-and-God-dreaming time.

It’s one of my favorite things to do whenever January rolls around. It helps me envision the coming months so I can live with and on purpose.

But this year is starting off on the same note last year ended with. Instead of a bang, it’s more of a hum, and the thrill of what’s to come is missing.

It’s strange not to feel the excitement, especially when I’m someone who loves starting new things and having vision and a call toward something. I’m usually the person telling other people about living with intentionality and how important it is to have that one word for the year.

And because this is all unusual for me, I’m paying attention. I’m taking note of the emptiness that doesn’t feel sad or weird but peaceful. I’m reframing it and calling it open space. I’m noticing my pace and how slow it is. It’s slow but not behind. It’s right on track, to the same step as God’s. I’m recognizing the shift in my heart for the place God has me in as a work-at-home, suburban mom, whose basic day mostly involves managing other people’s lives, making sure there’s food for dinner and that homework is done. It’s a life I didn’t aspire to or even want in my 20s, but here I am, actually enjoying it and seeing God in it now.

It’s not better or more right or even more glorifying to God one way or the other — whether you’re in a similar season in life or you’re in a season of adventure and risk. Both are ordained by God, and God is everywhere — in every season, at every pace, in every in-between place.

I often wonder about the unwritten parts of Jesus’s life, about the moments when He might’ve felt the ordinary to be ordinary, even though He was God. Did He relish it — this being human, of making His home here on this earth, of dwelling with us? Did He delight in the repetition of the small things, knowing all things? Did He look forward to the day when He would get baptized by John, His cousin, and thus begin His years of ministry?

He was familiar with it all — the mundane and the miraculous, the boring and the busy, the years when one faded into the next and the year when His life would come to an end and He would make eternity a reality for us.

He calls it all good, every part.

Every time I ask God if there’s something I should be looking for — a vision He might be showing me that I’m missing or a yes or no I should be saying or a path I should be taking — He says the same thing back to me:

You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

Even now, with no word for the year or goals or planner in hand, with the Christmas tree still twinkling, oblivious to its time having passed, with no plan for how I should grow or what I should become this year, God says it’s okay — good even, and I’m starting right there.

 

When the Spirit of God Hovers

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In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.

Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. Then he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day” and the darkness “night.”

And evening passed and morning came, marking the first day.
Genesis 1:1-5 (NLT)

Perhaps “formless and empty” describe the season you’re in or the year you’ve had. It seems as though nothing good or generative is happening and that you’re stuck in a holding pattern. Or perhaps you can’t see past the darkness that lays heavy on you, one that you haven’t been able to shake for a while.

Then the story of creation may be what you need to hear today. When the Spirit of God hovered over the surface of the waters (water often symbolizing chaos and death in the Bible), movement happened, light came to be, and the first day began.

Creativity.
Transformation.
Hope.

Our Creator God is the same today as He was then. May His Spirit hover over you, creating beauty, breathing new life, and instilling hope into your soul.

Navigating Through the Fog of Uncertainty

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I grew up in Chicago where winters were punctuated by blustery winds, snow drifts, and icy roads. I remember having to put on all the layers to bundle up before school and the strange sensation of my nose hairs freezing when I stepped outside our front door in the morning.

After college, I moved to Central California to chase a career as a newspaper journalist. My first winter in California was decidedly different. People wore boots for “cozy fashion” rather than necessity, and I had to reckon with fog.

Fog terrified me.

The San Joaquin Valley where I live is known for tule fog — a thick ground fog that lingers in this area during the colder winter months because of the mountain ranges that surround it.

The fog is disorienting because you can’t see very far in front of you or around you. When you’re driving through it, you have to travel slowly because other cars or obstacles may be shrouded in the dense, suffocating mist.

In so many ways, 2020 felt like a fog — full of uncertainty, heavy with decision fatigue, and unprecedented changes. Some of us weathered depression, anxiety, sickness, and fear of the unknown day after day. It was difficult to find the way forward. We were isolated from our people, our comfortable routines, and any sense of normalcy. The reality is that might not entirely change now that we have turned the calendar page to 2021.

Several times in the book of Exodus, God reveals Himself through fog and thick clouds. In Exodus 19, the Lord said to Moses, “Behold, I am coming to you in a thick cloud, that the people may hear when I speak with you, and may also believe you forever” (Exodus 19:9 ESV).

Later in Exodus 24, Moses went up Mount Sinai and the cloud covered the mountain again. “The glory of the Lord dwelt on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it six days. And on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the midst of the cloud” (Exodus 24:16 ESV). After this, Moses goes into the cloud and stays there for forty days and forty nights. God shelters Moses and speaks to him in this hidden place.

As I scroll through my memory, God reminds me of seasons in my own life where I was navigating the fog. In 1999, when I first moved to California, I was recovering from a broken heart. I was disillusioned with relationships and found it difficult to move forward, to trust again. I went through a long season of challenges, but God continued to reach out to me.

In 2008, my husband Ericlee lost his job right before Christmas when I was pregnant with our second daughter. Our future felt scary and uncertain, but in the same way God provided manna for the Israelites in the wilderness, He provided miraculously for our needs.

In 2014, when Ericlee was diagnosed with stage four cancer, I found myself in a thick fog. I could not understand why we would have to face this disease in the prime of our ministry life and with three young daughters. Even in my husband’s death, God proved faithful again and again. He was present with me in the fog.

In 2018, our family navigated a lot of changes, including leaving our beloved school, church of two decades, and neighborhood. I grieved these losses and felt forlorn about the future. Again, God spoke to me in the thick clouds and brought me comfort and new hope that flourishing was possible.

In hindsight, I see the fog did eventually lift in all those cases. God brought clarity and healing, all in due time. But the most important part to remember is that His presence was with me through the fog.

Sometimes God uses foggy and uncertain times in our lives to draw us to Himself so we can learn to trust Him. When we keep our eyes focused on Him in the midst of uncertainty, He can be like a good set of fog lights penetrating the darkness for us.

I’ve lived in Central California for more than twenty years now. My attitude about fog has somewhat shifted. Fog no longer represents fear to me. The fog ushers in our winter and cozying up at home with my people. When I see the tule fog weaving its way through our hills and streets, I think of Christmas and the new year.

Fog is a fresh reminder that God meets with us in our uncertainty and our longing. He is faithful to us even in the winter seasons of the soul.

 

Dorina is hosting the Walk Run Soar 21 in ’21 challenge starting Monday, using her new devotional book, Walk Run Soar. If you have a goal to move your body and connect more with God in 2021, join her here. Walkers and runners welcome!