When I Come Out on the Other Side of This

When I Come Out on the Other Side of This

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I started the year off in a full sprint. January and February were unusually full and overflowing with travel, special events, and project deadlines. The hyper pace of this type of perpetual, uninterrupted hustle and bustle does not come naturally to me, nor do I long for it. I prefer a rhythm of balanced activity and pause, so I’m still wondering how I managed to over-schedule myself. 

But somehow, in the midst of two months, inundated with planning, writing, traveling, teaching, and parenting, there were a few free, quiet seconds. And in the expanse of those few seconds, I discerned that after February, I would get to pause — catch my breath. I saw a vision of me diving deep underground, beneath the earth’s soil. I know that technically diving into solid soil is impossible, but visions and unctions aren’t limited by our finite expressions of how things work in the natural realm. This vision gave me a sense of relief — a sense of calm. I longed for the placidity and welcomed the space to breath. I surveyed my calendar, saw that post-February was wide open, and therefore, I would be gliding back into my rhythm of balanced activity and pause —YES!

NO! A few weeks into quarantine life, I felt like I had been buried deep beneath the earth’s sod, but the sense of tranquility that I previously longed for had evaded me. The pause I looked forward to was not really a break if the whole world was broken. My rhythm of balanced activity and pause was nowhere to be found. At that point, I couldn’t even remember what my old rhythm felt like. I grieved the loss of normal. And when I heard people talking about getting back to normal, I thought to myself, “Normal is dead! Normal is no longer with us! Normal is not coming back!” And honestly, I didn’t have the strength to force the present extraordinary situation into normal’s old trappings. 

Every waking moment required my best intention and fullest attention. Each day seemed to offer old inquiries in the form of new trivial pursuits — from the menial (Where do I buy toilet paper?)  to the massive (How do I attend the funeral of a loved one?). The search for answers was grueling. The answer to both was I don’t. This daily adapting was exhausting, but adapting daily was necessary in order to thrive. All of the rethinking and relearning from what was normal was taxing! Being confined was suffocating. The loss of predictability was heavy. Contemplating what is to come was weighty.

But I remembered the vision of being underground and thought of the seed. The seed is buried deep underground, encompassed by the soil, pressed under the weight of the very element designed to grow it. The soil is endowed with the intelligence to summon the seed to leave its state of dormancy and become a plant, a tree, a forest. Before it can unfurl itself into the light of day above the earth’s surface, the seed must first be cultivated by the soil.

During this time of abnormal and discomfort, I liken myself to a seed being cultivated. Although heavy, I trust the weightiness of this time to command growth, to prepare me for my next stage of living, to propel me beyond my present state.

I can grieve the loss of what was, but I know losses make room for gains because Christ’s love leaves no deficits — no empty spaces. Though I am still in the depths of this, and though like a seed, I am still buried out of sight, the new has already begun. 

For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.    
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.
Isaiah 43:19 (NLT)

I have already begun to see new life cultivating in my home and family. While we’ve had to abandon work, school, and activities outside the home, daily we get to eat dinner together, play together, and spend hours loving on each other. Due to my husband’s work schedule, eating dinner together daily hasn’t been an option for us for several years. And while I lost my work-from-home-alone time, my girls get to see what it looks like for me to create through writing, teaching online, and leading an organization. 

Spending concentrated time with my family is like looking in a mirror all day long. I’ve seen parts of myself — good and ugly — that went unnoticed in my former rhythm of life. But during this forced extended pause, I’ve been able to work on the ugly parts and celebrate the good parts. 

During this time of buried beneath the weight of all of this, I am a seedling holding on to the hope of new things. May we all be fully cultivated and prepared for the next stage of purpose even as we’re underground right now.

 

[bctt tweet=”I can grieve the loss of what was, but I know losses make room for gains because Christ’s love leaves no deficits — no empty spaces. -Lucretia Berry (@brownicity):” username=”incourage”]

No Social Distancing Between Us and God’s Love

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Nothing can ever separate us from God’s love.
Romans 8:38 (NLT)

This is the promise we can cling to today: God’s love is not distant even when I feel alone.

Loneliness makes us feel as though a chasm created cruelly by life has been placed between us and others. We can feel lonely when we’re by ourselves or perhaps more painfully, when we’re surrounded by people. As we’ve experienced social distancing for the past two months and possibly for much longer, being and feeling alone takes a toll. We are weary. We are aching. We are longing. And though we may need to continue social distancing from one another, God’s love is not distant at all. It is near to us, living within us, and nothing can separate us from it.

 

[bctt tweet=”This is the promise we can cling to today: God’s love is not distant even when I feel alone.” username=”incourage”]

How to Walk Through Our Circumstances of Change

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It was one of those moments when bad news shocked me to my core. I had no clear course of action except to fall down on the well-worn carpet next to my bed, sob my eyes out in my white cotton comforter, and pray the only word that came to mind: Help. Over the years, the Lord and I have met at that bedroom spot too many times to count. We met there when I was pregnant with my daughter and yet another test revealed problems. We met there when the military moved us away from a location I didn’t want to leave. We met there when relationships broke down and rejection and ugliness found a seat in my lap once again.

The physical rooms have changed from house to house, but the place of prayer has not.

That spot is where I cry out all the things to Jesus, where I sense Him patting my back while whispering, Shh shh shhh, dear child. It’s where I come to the end of myself — again — and find the beginning of His strength in me. It’s where I hold onto the edges of His robe for dear life. It’s where I ask and beg and learn and accept, sometimes without saying anything audible.

When I’m on my knees there, I feel closest to the heavens. When there’s nothing I can do to change my circumstances, prayer is not just how I deal with those circumstances; it’s the way I move through them.

Not long ago, I read the parable of the persistent widow in Luke, a story illustrating how we ought to pray and not lose heart. As Jesus tells, there was a city judge who didn’t care much about people or God. A widow in the city came to the judge repeatedly asking for justice against one who had wronged her. For a while the judge refused to grant her justice, but then he thought to himself:

“Though I neither fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.”
Luke 18:4-6 (ESV)

Jesus ties the story to you and me:

And the Lord said, “Hear what the unrighteous judge says. And will not God give justice to his elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long over them? I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily.”
Luke 18:6-7 (ESV)

It struck me afresh: Our pestering prayers become the well-worn pathways we walk on through our circumstances.

God is not put out by our repeated requests — quite the opposite actually. As the parable proves, God tells us to go right on ahead and talk to Him. Pour out to Him. Sob our eyes out in front of Him. Our prayers can tug on the edge of His clothing day and night, and He’s not exasperated or wearied by them. Instead, He responds to them and acts with justice. We can pester and pester and pester some more, and God is only too willing to answer them in a way that is always for our best.

I don’t know what road stretches in front of you during these long days, but if it holds difficult circumstances you didn’t see coming, as it does for me, and you don’t have a clue about where they lead, then stop and pray. Then do it again. Lean into Christ saying:

I will trust in You, Lord, not in myself. I will believe You are moving in this situation even if I can’t see how. I will know that no matter the outcome, You only allow pain that brings a bigger gain.

May you and I keep on keepin’ on through our prayers, the roads we take from our low places on the ground to the heights of heaven.

Your will be done, Lord, on earth as it is in heaven. 

 

[bctt tweet=”When there’s nothing I can do to change my circumstances, prayer is not just how I deal with those circumstances; it’s the way I move through them. -@Kristen_Strong:” username=”incourage”]

In the Quiet, I Am Still His Beloved

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And just like that, May has come and is almost gone. Do you remember five months ago when we all rang in 2020 with such hope, excitement, and expectancy? Then, fast forward to a couple of months in and the world decided to throw all of that hope, excitement, and expectancy out the window.

All of the “theys” out there have tried their hardest to put a positive spin on this unprecedented time in all of our lives. Create. Rest. Connect. Produce. Build. And I’ve tried, but I don’t think my trying has produced the kind of fruit I was envisioning.

Thankfully, I have had a bit of normalcy during this season. I am considered essential and so I have gone into work as usual. My church was given permission by our sheriff’s office to have small prayer gatherings that included social distancing, and I go for a walk everyday, soaking up all the fresh air and Vitamin D.

I have added Zoom call after Zoom call after online Bible Studies after worship services. I have also been full on in acquiring two life coaching certifications since January. I’ve actually stayed quite busy. That’s how I like it. I am a doer by nature, and I don’t do well with stillness, idleness, or extended alone time despite being quite a bit of an introvert.

The one thing this pandemic has showed me is that my capacity for quiet and the secret place was a bit lacking. The fruit of that has definitely played out in me not sleeping well for the past couple of months and some anxiety.

I would say that I haven’t been fearful of contracting the virus, but fear about other areas has come up in other ways. Evading fear, for me, has looked like work and numbing out. I can’t tell you how many shows I have binge-watched or how many trails of toxic thoughts I have entertained or how much time I’ve spent intentionally trying not to be alone. And on top of all of that, a really close friend is moving soon.

I’ve discovered through my coaching classes that I tend to avoid hard emotions by disconnecting from my heart and pretending those emotions don’t exist. The easiest way for me to do that is by not creating space for me to be still and alone with God.

One of my friends shared Song of Solomon 2:10-13 on Facebook recently, and it stopped me in my tracks. It was almost as if I could literally hear the voice of the Lord whispering into my ear. This is His desire for me and for you in this season while many of us have few to no other choices to fill up our time:

My beloved spoke, and said to me:
“Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away.
For lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of singing has come,
And the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth her green figs,
And the vines with the tender grapes
Give a good smell.
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away!”

Growing up as a child with both parents pretty much out of the picture, I never quite felt loved. When I became a Christian at nineteen, my head grabbed a hold of the truth that God loved me, but my heart hasn’t always held onto it as easily.

He has been gently reminding me that whether or not I feel loved, I am loved. I am loved because God is love, and I am made in His image. His very breath sustains my life. I was created out of His love to be loved by Him. Love is the language that He freely speaks over me and over you. We don’t have to be something we’re not. We don’t have to strive for His approval. We can rest in our identity being found in His love alone.

In these verses, Solomon bids his love to come away with him several times. He invites her into a secret place to see her face and hear her voice. He loves her and wants nothing more than to be with her. His beloved wants the same things. She is eager to be alone with him. She is eager to know him and be known by him.

Often times, I run away from this kind of intimacy with the Lord. I fear truly being known by the One who created me. I fear judgment or punishment or simply the realities of my sin. I allow shame to pull me away instead of allowing His kindness to lead me into repentance.

God wants nothing more than to commune with us, to have intimacy with us. He wants to speak truth to our hearts and hope to our souls. His love leads to pruning and growth. It leads to us conforming to His image. As we spend time with Him, His desires become our desires. We die to our flesh and become alive in Him. That is the mighty and undeniable work of His Spirit that comes out of stillness.

In my neck of the woods, life is slowly coming back, but there is still much opportunity for quiet and reflection. My prayer is that I will come out of this “pause” in my normal activity better than I went into it. I want to repent more quickly than I used to. I want stillness to be my new normal. I want my heart to know that I am beloved no matter what.

 

If you have found yourself struggling during this time to quiet your mind,
please share in the comments below — I’d love to pray for you!

 

[bctt tweet=”Love is the language that God freely speaks over me and over you. -@karina268:” username=”incourage”]

In These Days, Maintain Constant Love

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The end of all things is near; therefore, be alert and sober-minded for prayer. Above all, maintain constant love for one another, since love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining. Just as each one has received a gift, use it to serve others, as good stewards of the varied grace of God. If anyone speaks, let it be as one who speaks God’s words; if anyone serves, let it be from the strength God provides, so that God may be glorified through Jesus Christ in everything. To him be the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.
1 Peter 4:7-11 (CSB)

In dire times, we get to see the best of people and the worst of people — both sides reveal whether love or lack of it underlies their actions. There are videos and pictures of those who have poured out love to those who are on the frontlines of this pandemic, to the ones who have gone out of their way to wish a friend or a neighbor even a complete stranger a happy birthday. There are the Zoom prom and graduation celebrations and the generosity of so many to those who are in need, and it all reminds us that there is still good in this world.

But we also see the diminishing of other’s humanity, the racism and xenophobia, the justification of one person’s actions instead of the consideration of the greater community, and we lament that this world and its systems and its people are broken.

Jesus often preached in His days that the kingdom of God was near, and it is still true today. It is near, and how we love (or don’t) will be the measure of our Christlikeness.

Let’s love one another with an overflowing, constant love — just as He first loved us.  

 

[bctt tweet=”Jesus often preached in His days that the kingdom of God was near, and it is still true today. It is near, and how we love (or don’t) will be the measure of our Christlikeness.” username=”incourage”]

When Worry and Fear Weigh You Down

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We began studying Philippians as a church in the fall of 2019. Because we move slowly, verse by verse, we found ourselves in chapter three as we walked through Lent while sheltering-in-place. On Palm Sunday, I looked ahead to the verses that would come next, knowing they would be our Easter passage.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. The irony was thick, but it felt like a gift.

On Easter Sunday, my church dove deep into Philippians 4:6-7:

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.

In a world weighed down by worries, in a pandemic that feels more like Good Friday than Easter Sunday, choosing faith instead of fear is a daily challenge. Or, perhaps, it’s an opportunity. An invitation, even.

The following week, my Bible study group began reading Joshua. Over the next several months, we’ll go chapter by chapter, studying the words in their context and looking for God’s goodness woven throughout.

As I read the first chapter, two things stood out:
– The book begins with loss
– Joshua’s fear is met with reassurances of God’s loving-kindness and faithful presence

After decades wandering in the wilderness, the Israelites stand ready to enter the Promised Land. It’s time to set out, to walk in obedience and faith. They are the generation who will see the promise made become the promise kept.

But Moses, Joshua’s mentor and the Israelite’s leader, has just died. The one who spoke face-to-face with God is gone, and it’s reasonable to assume that Joshua is not only grieving, he’s filled with fear.

At first glance, I assumed Joshua’s fear was attached to the challenge ahead. How will he lead an entire nation? How long will the journey take? What will the land be like after all this time?

Fast forward to 2020, and I wonder, How will our leaders guide us in the coming days? How long will we shelter-in-place and worry for our loved ones? What will the “new normal” look like?

But a closer look led me in a different direction. Joshua’s fear isn’t tied to the unknown of the future — He’s afraid of a future without God. He doesn’t want the promise without the presence of the Promise Maker.

Three times in chapter one, God reassures Joshua like a mother comforting a child:

“I will be with you as I was with Moses. I will not fail you or abandon you. Be strong and courageous, for you are the one who will lead these people to possess all the land I swore to their ancestors I would give them. Be strong and very courageous.”
(verses 5-7)

“This is my command — be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”
(verse 9)

“Be strong and courageous!”
(verse 18)

Joshua has known the goodness of God in the middle of the unknown, and he would rather have the wilderness with God’s presence than the blessing without. In other words, what Joshua wants most isn’t a blessing — it’s God’s with-ness.

The comfort of Joshua 1 and the challenge of Philippians 4 collide in the beauty of Exodus 33:11:

Inside the Tent of Meeting, the Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend. Afterward Moses would return to the camp, but the young man who assisted him, Joshua son of Nun, would remain behind in the Tent of Meeting.

He remained behind. Long before Joshua led the Israelites into the Promised Land, he lingered in the presence of the One who made the promise.

Perhaps this is a picture of “Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers.” Perhaps worry is replaced with worship when we fix our eyes on the One who promises to never leave our side.

Will you join me in prayer today?

Lord God, we come with hands full of worries and fears. We are broken and needy. We are desperate. As You were with Moses in the wilderness and Joshua in the Promised Land, lead us through the coming days.

You wrapped Yourself in skin, dwelling among us in this broken, hurting world. Jesus, You wept over the death of a friend, even though You knew the story wasn’t over. And so Lord, You understand our hurting hearts. We bring them to You, asking for strength for today and hope for tomorrow.

Spirit, we’re grateful for the ever-present gift of Your presence. Comfort those who are grieving, grant wisdom to our leaders, give us courage in the unknown, and teach us to linger longer in Your presence, shaping our worries into prayers.

You are the God who comes and stays, the One who keeps every promise He makes. We don’t know what the future will hold, but we know that You’ll be there. Today, Lord, we declare that to be — declare You to be — more than enough.

 

[bctt tweet=”God, comfort those who are grieving, grant wisdom to our leaders, give us courage in the unknown and teach us to linger longer in Your presence, shaping our worries into prayers. #loveoverall #loveprays -@kaitlyn_bouch” username=”incourage”]

When You Need to Step Away

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The one who lives under the protection of the Most High
dwells in the shadow of the Almighty.
Psalm 91:1 (CSB)

The other day I told my friend, “Life is too short to do something that drains your soul.” This bit of truth rolled off my tongue easily that day because, in that moment, I was deep in the midst of a social media break. A growing restlessness in my soul, coupled with the prompting of the Holy Spirit, whispered to my heart that I needed to pull way back from the unending chatter of the internet. After trying to refill my tank with what a thousand of my closest “friends” had to say, God stepped in and invited me into a secret space — a sacred space, alone. With Him.

“It’s like stepping into God’s office to dump out all of my emotional garbage and let Him help me sort it,” I told my friend. We laughed about the visual, but one of the struggles I often wrestle with is my own eagerness to share with others what God is doing in my heart, in those private moments. When I make this mistake, I stop focusing on God, and start looking around at others. I start listening to their stories, quickly forgetting that just hours before, God was working out some of the kinks in my own.

This time, however, I stepped fully and quietly into that secret place with Him and sat there in my mess and endured the month-long unwinding of a great many knots in my heart. Instead of anxiety about stepping away, I experienced relief. I came to God dirt-dry and found revival in His presence alone.

Surely there is a time for testimony. We are called to tell of His goodness and grace to all who will listen. But also we are called to the quiet, tucked-away place alone with Him, where the uncomfortable-but-necessary healing and growing can happen, away from the chatter and peering eyes of the waiting room. Alone with the Almighty, I tasted the sweetness of grace that could not — and cannot — be experienced anywhere else.

This message was written by Kris Camealy and appears in A Moment to Breathe: 365 Devotions That Meet You in Your Everyday Mess from the (in)courage community.

 

[bctt tweet=”We are called to tell of His goodness and grace to all who will listen, but also we are called to the quiet, tucked-away place alone with Him. -@kriscamealy:” username=”incourage”]

We Do This Because Love Prays

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Our loved one is sick and needs a critical surgery. We can’t do the surgery ourselves, we can’t heal them ourselves, but we can pray. We can stand beside that hospital bed and cry out to God. We ask everyone we know to join us as we do. We do this because love prays.

We are on our way home when an ambulance races by. We can’t help them, we most likely don’t know the person inside, but we can pray. We pause for a moment and intercede for the patient and for those working to save a life. We do this because love prays.

Our community gets hit by a tornado and many lose their homes and everything they own. We can’t just go out and build a new home for them, we don’t have the funds to replace all their earthly belongings, but we can pray. We gather as a community and support them in prayer. We do this because love prays.

We hear the latest update of people sick, suffering, and dying from the coronavirus. We can’t save them, we can’t heal the hurt for their loved ones, but we can pray. We can join with people across the world and bring those suffering and dying and their loved ones to Christ in prayer. We do this because love prays.

We all want to make a difference in this great, big world. We want to make a real impact, but we may not always know how. We may not have the knowledge, the money, or the connections. What we can do won’t nearly be enough, but we can pray.

And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.
Ephesians 6:18 (NIV)

For some, praying is more of a last resort. We’d rather get to work, do it ourselves, and see results quickly so we don’t have to wait. Then, when we’ve exhausted all the things we can do on our own with no success, we pray. But really, praying should be our go-to first response! Prayer connects us with God and allows us to be part of His team.

Prayer is one of the most powerful, pure ways we can love others. It may not seem like enough, but prayer is one of the greatest things we can do.

Prayer make the impossible possible. Our prayers are not powerful because of our own doing or our own strength. That would be giving ourselves way too much credit. They are so powerful because God meets us in our prayers. The power and strength of our prayers are in the One who hears our prayers, not the one saying them.

You might think your prayers make no difference, but that is simply not the truth. God works through all things, and all things are possible with Him.

My husband and I lived thousands of miles from our family when he was diagnosed with a giant brain aneurysm. Our loved ones were far away, and they weren’t sure what they could do or how they could help. But they prayed. They called and sent cards to say they were praying. They put him on prayer lists. They asked others to pray. Prayers were being said around the world — and this was all before communication was as easy as a text. A lot of time, effort, and love was put into all that praying.

There was no denying the awesome power of prayer. We both felt the love and support of those prayers, and we know they made a difference because we didn’t know how we would get through such a traumatic thing. We did because of the prayer of others.

So, stay the course and keep praying. Don’t quit. Keep knocking. Our prayers make a difference.

In addition to writing live-giving words, Jennifer Ueckert also creates live-giving art. Check out her uplifting prints and paintings at StudioJRU.com

 

[bctt tweet=”Prayer is one of the most powerful, pure ways we can love others. It may not seem like enough, but prayer is one of the greatest things we can do. #loveoverall #loveprays -Jennifer Ueckert:” username=”incourage”]

To Be Known and Called Friend

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I recently visited my favorite coffee shop to grab a cup of coffee. I remember feeling adventurous that particular day, so I decided I would try something new off the menu. When I reached the counter I had made my decision and thus confidently placed my order, not realizing that I had ordered off the frozen coffee menu. The friendly barista looked sideways at me and asked, “Is this for you, honey, or are you ordering for someone else?” I was a little taken aback, but I replied, “It’s for me.” To which she said, “Oh no, sweetie. That’s a frozen coffee, and you like your coffee hot. How about I make you a flat white.” It was a statement, not a question.

Dumbfounded, I replied, “Okay. Let’s do that.” Moments later, she carefully handed me the steaming mug of coffee sprinkled with raw sugar. I took a sip of the velvety coffee, looked up at her and said, “It’s just right.” She nodded and moved on to the next customer, obviously pleased with her work.

I sat down at the table thinking how nice it felt to be known. It reminded me of the psalm that King David wrote about how wonderful it is to be known by the Creator of the earth. He said in Psalm 139:1, “Lord, You have searched me and known me.”

The phrase “to be known” signifies how a friend or companion would know someone. Naturally, when I think of my closest companion on earth, my mind instantly goes to my husband whom I have known for over twenty years now. At first we were just classmates in a study group, but slowly we morphed into boyfriend and girlfriend and eventually into husband and wife. We didn’t know everything there was to know about each other right away, but rather it took time for our relationship to develop. After all this time of spending day after day together, we now can often finish each other’s sentences. He knows exactly how to push my buttons, but he also knows the little things that make me happy. He knows my hopes and dreams as well as my greatest fears. I am known by him because I willingly spend time with him and we share life together.

The Lord wants the same intimacy to exist in my relationship with Him. He wants me to share my life with Him! Because He intricately formed me in my mother’s womb, He already knows what makes me feel happy or sad, excited or scared, loved or rejected. Yet He still desires that I bring my victories as well as my fears or failures to Him.

However, sometimes I have trouble believing this about God. Why would He want to have a relationship with me? What do I have to offer in the way of friendship? It’s one thing to have a friendly barista know my coffee drink order or my husband to know my daily routine, but it’s an entirely different feeling to have the Almighty know when I sit or stand or even my innermost thoughts — especially if my thoughts and actions are cringeworthy. This is why it’s so important that I read and believe God’s Word as truth. Psalm 139:11-12 reminds me, “If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me, and the light around me will be night’ – even the darkness is not dark to You. The night shines like the day; darkness and light are alike to You.”

This tells me that even my darkest thought or moment is not hidden from the Lord. In fact, as a faithful companion does, He brings His marvelous light into my darkness and assures me that He still wants to be my friend. I can think of nothing sweeter than that truth.

He wants to be your friend too! No matter what you’ve done or haven’t done, no matter if your house is dirty or clean, no matter if you have a long history with Him or a short one, He wants you just as you are. Bring Him your hopes and dreams and release all your hurts and failures. Talk to Him like you would you would your closest confidant. He knows it all anyway, but He also knows that life is richer when you spend time with Him.

So, share your life each and every day with the One who created you. Enjoy the process of watching your relationship grow over time, and when you stumble, allow Him to bring light into your darkness. You are fully known by your Savior, and He calls you His friend.

Have you lost your shine? Are you living day-to-day, going about your routine, checking off your list, yet feeling tired, dull, and ordinary? Made to Shine will restore the light of purpose to your life, energizing you with passion and hope. Through the art of storytelling, April Rodgers brings you reminders of how much God truly loves you, how much He delights in you, and how eager He is to refresh you with His light so you can radiate His love to those around you.

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*Giveaway will close at 11:59pm CT on 5/15/2020. Open to US residents only. 

[bctt tweet=”You are fully known by your Savior, and He calls you His friend. #madetoshinebook -@rodgers_april:” username=”incourage”]

Peace When All Is Chaos

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“Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.
Don’t let your hearts be troubled or fearful.”
John 14:27 (CSB)

It seems that every commercial on TV has switched over to the message of being “in this together.” It’s heartwarming when everyone feels disconnected and alone, but still at the end of every commercial, their hope is for us to buy their product, watch their news channel, turn to their services. Marketing isn’t bad. Business isn’t bad. But if this is message most of us are hearing these days when we’re feeling vulnerable and fearful, is this the kind of peace the world offers?

As chaos continues in this world with the pandemic, with unchecked injustice, with hunger and abuse, we can take heart that God doesn’t give us the kind of peace the world does. His peace is one that stays with us when the world has turned upside down. It is accessible and available and offered to us freely through Christ. His peace leaves us with real peace instead of a gaping need for more. It keeps us grounded and steady within the chaos of the storm, and it carries us no matter how long the storm goes.

So, let’s take deep breaths and hold on to this promise today: When the world is in chaos, Christ’s peace is with me.

 

[bctt tweet=”Let’s take deep breaths and hold on to this promise today: When the world is in chaos, Christ’s peace is with me. #promiseoverpanic” username=”incourage”]

Miriam’s Song: Do You Trust Me?

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I could barely contain my excitement. Waiting with as much patience as my eight-year-old self could muster, I’d been counting down the days until I could visit my brother at youth camp. Long before cell phone days, his minimal postcards showcased all his adventures as a counselor and he promised me the same.

Familial greetings out of the way, my brother grabbed my hand as we edged through a wooded trail. “I’m going to show you one of the most beautiful spots, but you’re going to need to trust me as I lead you.”

This was my big, brave brother. Ten years older, wiser and someone in whom I had always put my faith, he would never steer me wrong.

We climbed higher, with each step challenging my footing and my faith. When I thought my tiny legs couldn’t go any farther, we reached the top.

As we reached the rocky precipice, he turned my face towards his, put his hands on my shoulders, looked directly into my eyes and repeated, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, I trust you.”

“No matter how it appears, I need you to believe and trust me.”

“I will. I told you. Stop asking me,” I huffed with irritation.

He hiked out of sight leaving me alone with unanswered questions. As I heard his voice echo from below the ledge, my mind couldn’t process the request.

“I want you to jump to me. Trust that you’ll be fine. Jump over the edge.”

What was he asking of me? As an adult, I know Scripture refers to having a childlike faith, but in that moment, faith didn’t include my brother. Terrified and confused, I couldn’t even inch toward the ledge. I tried. Paralysis stifled my steps and I croaked, “I can’t.”

I wanted to, but I couldn’t do it.

“Come on! You told me you trusted me. You can do this!” he urged repeatedly.

Tears streamed down my face as the reality of my despair spoke to the condition of my heart. While my voice proclaimed a fervent trust in him, my actions showed no evidence of it.

My brother approached and understood my heartbroken distress.

“I’m sorry.” I sobbed. “I was so scared. I just couldn’t.”

He gently led me to the ledge. What initially appeared to be a large chasm was only a two foot drop.

“It’s called a trust walk.” My brother explained. “I did it with all my campers, and you weren’t the first who bailed.”

Especially during this season of COVID-19, I’m reminded of Miriam’s story in Exodus. Her life exemplified an ongoing walk of trust and faith. Over and over, God brought her to a ledge, boldly challenged her to step forward in obedience, and He never failed to prove Himself worthy.

Miriam’s ledge — from the bank of the Nile where she saved Moses, her baby brother and God’s appointed Savior of Israel, from Pharaoh’s edict to the edge of the immovable Red Sea, she once again faced a crisis of faith.

Although this time, I am the one at the water’s edge as God challenges me to plunge head first into a trust walk of absolute surrender.

I’m terrified, hopeless and unsure — He asks more than I’m able.

Do you trust me? I’m frozen as the chariots draw near.

Do you trust me? Uncertainty plagues me as my eyes fixate on the water wall surrounding me.

Will you trust me when your husband’s job is eliminated? I stumble on the barren Red Sea road. Is this possible?

Will you worship me when your finances fail and your baby is prepped for surgery? I pick up my pace.

Will you praise me when your children turn away? I boldly race forward.

Do you believe that I will part the sea when your marriage struggles? I’m overcome with the declaration of His love, and I raise my arms to the One who never fails.

“Yes, Lord. This is my trust walk of surrender. We’ve come too far to stay on that side of the river. You’ve parted the seas before — You will do it again and I trust you. You reign forever and ever.”

Miriam conquered her impossible and chose to worship as she traveled her Red Sea road. Experiencing sweeping emotions — from doubt and dismay to utter joy and gratitude — her people, God’s chosen Israelites, witnessed God’s power to miraculously destroy their enemies and deliver them from bondage.

Have you ever had such unspeakable joy in the midst of such challenging circumstances that your only choice was to respond through song and dance? Miriam did. At the end of God’s deliverance in Exodus 15:22, Miriam stands on the banks of the sea and sings in thanksgiving to God. Her song testifies, in thanksgiving, God’s mighty power to save.

Oh, to be a woman who leads in her faithfulness and doesn’t waver when the Lord questions, “Do you trust me?” Even in the midst of global pandemic, may I respond with absolute certainty and join Miriam in praising, “Sing to the Lord, for He is highly exalted: He has thrown the horse and its rider into the sea”(Exodus 15:21).

The Lord is worthy of our trust.

 

[bctt tweet=”God never failed to prove Himself worthy to the Israelites, and He won’t fail now. – Jen Schmidt (@beautyandbedlam):” username=”incourage”]

Five Bible Verses to Guide You in a Crisis

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It was the start of the worldwide pandemic, and we were still weeks away from lockdown. Yet the news of what was heading toward us was beginning to cause panic and anxiety.

TV cameras were panning grocery store shelves, which had been emptied of toilet paper and disinfecting wipes. I vividly remember pawing through the freezer to take an inventory of our food supply, which I recognize is a luxury that many people around the world don’t have. I investigated my own toilet paper stash, calculated savings, and started to worry about, well . . .  everything — my health, my aging parents, an immunocompromised friend with cancer, food supply chains, farmers in our community, including my husband. Our daughter is a high school senior, and I began to worry about all the “lasts” she would miss.

The one consistent pattern in my life was worry, worry, worry.

Little by little, more of our lives were shut down. The calendar was cleared of almost everything, including nonessential medical and dental appointments. As the pandemic wore on, there was only one thing that weakened worry’s grip on my heart — the Word.

I realize that I just delivered the most obvious, Sunday-school answer ever for solving the age-old problem of worry. Basically, it’s this: Read your Bible. But let me tell you what I’m learning: Sometimes the most obvious, simplest answer of all is the right one.

In the middle of a storm, the Word of God is the life raft to bring your heart home.

The Word is more than a history lesson or a set of instructions on how to live. It is the very revelation of God. It’s sharper than a sword and more tender than a mother’s embrace. It is water and air. It is life.

The way out of worry is by walking along a path paved with God’s Word. For me, in this crazy time in our world’s history, that path has been paved with Scripture. Many verses have come alive in a whole new way. Five of them have nurtured my soul deeply in these past months, and so I am sharing them with you today, dear friend.

1. “They will have no fear of bad news” (Psalm 112:7 NIV).

During those first days on the worry path, God met me with this very verse. The words leapt off the page. Psalm 112 tells us that one of the advantages of having faith in God, is being able to stand firm in the midst of trial. God guards the minds of those who walk with him. The Psalmist says that with God, we will have “no fear of bad news.” In short, we have a good-news God for every bad-news day.

2. “Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness” (Luke 4:1 NIV).

These are the verses that launch into a story about Jesus spending forty days in the wilderness. Jesus was in a sort of quarantine, social-distanced for quite some time. The entire story is worth re-reading because Jesus has great instructions for us on how to function in a wilderness. But take note of how the story begins. Jesus was full of the Holy Spirit, and He was led by the Spirit. The same goes for you. The Holy Spirit is in you, and He is leading you.

3. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1 NIV).

Life is a strange mix of joy and sorrow, birth and death, tearing down and building up. There is a time for embracing, and a time to refrain from it. Before social-distancing, it was hard to imagine a time where we would refrain from embracing people in tight hugs. But the seasons will turn again, for there really is a time for everything, and once more we will embrace.

4. “I’m down. But I’m not out. I’m sitting in the dark right now. But God is my light” (Micah 7:8 MSG).

In hard times, I hold tight to the assurance that God will carry me out of the darkness and into the light. He, Himself, is the Light who leads the way.

5. “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39 NIV).

What a reminder! Nothing stands between us and the love of God. And furthermore, all the things we had in Christ before the pandemic are true in the midst of it.

What verses have given you hope during this trying time in our history?

 

[bctt tweet=”Nothing stands between us and the love of God. And furthermore, all the things we had in Christ before the pandemic are true in the midst of it. -@dukeslee:” username=”incourage”]

A Note to All of You on Mother’s Day

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She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
Proverbs 31:25-26 (NIV)

We know this day is a complex one full of many emotions and experiences, so we are praying for each of you today as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what that means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, nurtures, and releases those who become part of the next generation is doing an amazing work and is to be celebrated today.

Happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.

 

[bctt tweet=”Happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.” username=”incourage”]

Let’s Cheer Each Other On Today

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I’m standing at the finish line of a half-marathon. I see my daughter, Lovelle, round the final corner of the race. The course ends with a hill, and I watch as she climbs it along with other runners, each step requiring extra effort because of the steepness.

Our daughter is one of the most resilient people I know. She came into our lives when she was twenty after a decade of infertility for us and a lifetime of difficulty for her. She has taught me so much about what it means to be brave and strong. So on this day I do what I have for years now, I cheer her on.

Others around me do the same for their loved ones. Parents cheering on children. Friends yelling encouragement, “You can do this!” Coworkers wearing matching shirts showing up to support one of their own.

I thought of this scene recently with what’s going on in our world. We’re in a race we didn’t train for or expect. Some of us are facing steeper hills than we ever have, like the loss of a job, dream, or someone we love. Many of us are missing milestones, like graduations and weddings. All of us are facing fear and uncertainty, which have always been part of being human.

I wrote Cheering You On: 50 Reasons Why Anything Is Possible with God before COVID-19. I wrote it because my daughter didn’t get to hear the words I wish she had growing up. I wrote it because I now also have a granddaughter and I want her to know as soon as she can that God is her biggest fan. I wrote it because as a life coach, counselor, and author who has engaged with thousands of people I know life isn’t an easy walk in the park.

Therefore, since we also have such a large cloud of witnesses surrounding us . . . Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us, keeping our eyes on Jesus, the source and perfecter of our faith. For the joy that lay before him, he endured the cross.
Hebrews 12:1-2 (CSB)

Today we are runners in a race none of us would have chosen, one whose finish line we can’t yet see. We’re also, like I was at my daughter’s half-marathon, witnesses to the journeys of others. We can help each other keep our eyes on Jesus. We can trust there is still joy ahead of us. We can, most of all and more than ever before, choose to cheer each other on.

Download a free gift from Holley and DaySpring for you and the people in your life, Cheering You On: 5 Reasons Anything Is Possible with God. You can also find more Covid-19 resources from DaySpring here.

 

[bctt tweet=”We can help each other keep our eyes on Jesus. We can trust there is still joy ahead of us. We can, most of all and more than ever before, choose to cheer each other on. – @holleygerth” username=”incourage”]

Peace for a New Day Tomorrow

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I look at the list of assignments my daughter has, and I feel overwhelmed by the amount of work that needs to get done for the day. Blame it on the pandemic, on working from home, on the kids having a hard time doing school on the computer, but the list is long today because we didn’t get much done the last few days. Each week has brought new changes to the way my children learn from their teachers, turn in work, or get assessed. There are more platforms than I can keep count of, let alone logins and passwords for each one and for each kid. I’m someone who heavily relies on my internet browser to save my passwords, so with everything going on, even the littlest thing feels like too much.

Suffice it to say, I’m struggling. My kids are struggling. Our attitudes have been prickly, our patience on its last drops, and our grief comes out in meanness toward one another and nightmare-filled sleep.

I have dreams about my teeth falling out or the world coming to an end. I dream about a real life day where I get everything on my to-do list done, only to wake up tired with everything still on the list unchecked and looming heavy over my head. The night doesn’t guarantee rest, and it’s not just me.

My son has started screaming at night again. He hides under the blankets because he’s scared of burglars coming to our house — his imagination as wild and apocalyptic as mine. But hiding under the blanket only makes his body overheat, which then brings new nightmares to his little mind.

He cries out in fear then anger that it’s too hot, and too often, I can’t hold back my anger toward him. It’s a vicious cycle, and every night is a game of nightmare roulette. Will we get enough sleep or will we be woken up every couple of hours to shouts of “Mommyyyy!”? My husband and I wonder if this will ever end or if this is our lot in parenting life.

But when sanity holds sway and compassion fills my heart, I cradle my son and wipe away his tears and sweat. I tell him to take deep breaths, and together we breathe in and out — his head against my chest listening to my heart, our bodies in sync with our breaths. I feel his tense body relax, and we enter together into the presence of God. I pray for peace over his body, his mind, and soul. I pray for God to meet him in his dreams — that even there, he would experience God’s strong love for him. I pray for his thoughts to be filled with good, lovely, pure things, and that we’d be able to sleep uninterrupted till the morning.

I lay him down on his bed and flip his pillow to find a cooler side. I rub his back and tell him I love him, that God loves him, and I retreat back to my room with flickering hope that it won’t happen again in a couple of hours.

I lie in bed weary, but my mind turns toward tomorrow. I think about what school will be like, how many more assignments we’ll be behind in, and then I give up — there’s nothing that thinking and worrying can do for me.

I pray the same prayer over myself as I did for my son, and I take deep breaths with my palms open and my eyes closed.

We don’t know when things will start to feel normal, and it may be that things will keep evolving and we’ll have to keep adjusting. But our hope isn’t attached to what was or what will be. Our hope is in the One who’s with us here and now — through sleepless nights and overwhelming days. He, who is unseen, sees us in all our weariness and grief. He holds us and our children close, speaks words of love over us, and tells us to rest in His embrace.

Let these words speak life to you when everything has become too much and rest eludes you: Deep breaths and peace for a new day tomorrow.

 

[bctt tweet=”Our hope isn’t attached to what was or what will be. Our hope is in the One who’s with us here and now — through sleepless nights and overwhelming days. -@gracepcho:” username=”incourage”]

He Sees the Whole Landscape Even Now

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The other day we made turkey-and-cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread and packed oranges and a plate of cookies my friend made into a cooler bag. We piled the five of us into our royal blue truck and went for a drive. Some local friends recently posted pictures on Facebook of a beautiful lake they found about an hour from our house, and I had to see it with my own eyes.

I needed some fresh air and an excuse to drive. I needed space to think.

It had been four weeks of sheltering at home during COVID-19. Our souls needed space to breathe on that Good Friday.

“Where are we going, Mom?” my middle girl needed to know.

“Somewhere we’ve never been before,” I replied. “It’s an adventure!”

She looked at me side-eyed. She wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

Thankfully, my husband is always up for the ride and goes along without lots of questions.

We drove toward the expanse of mountains just beyond our city. They were vast, blue, hopeful from this vantage point. Great, billowing clouds hovered above the hills.

“That’s beautiful,” my oldest daughter whispered from the back seat. I smiled quietly to myself and kept driving.

We turned right off the main highway on Road 200 heading toward the town of North Fork. The road meandered and curved. We galloped past dilapidated houses and breathtaking fields dressed in yellow wildflowers. Squirrels dashed across our path, and wild turkeys played tag in the brush.

We finally found a sign that pointed to Redinger Lake. At least we knew we were headed in the right direction. The road narrowed, and pavement gave way to gravel. I noted that only one vehicle could fit around the steep curves so it might get interesting if someone was trying to drive the other direction.

We drove and drove and drove. My littlest one started feeling car sick so we made her close her eyes and try to rest. I could feel our collective adrenaline rising as we sat quietly, eyes peeled out the window.

No signs of water.

In so many ways, this is how the last several weeks “sheltering at home” and staring down the barrel of a COVID-19 pandemic have felt. We didn’t know what was ahead. We didn’t know how long the journey might be. We tried to stay hopeful, but we were also aware of the danger, sickness, and grief so many were experiencing. It was hard to trust. It was hard to stay the course.

I felt all kinds of pressure as the driver. Not only was I navigating my own emotions, but I was also trying to balance the feelings and fears of my family. I kept looking at my husband, asking him what the GPS said. I had decision fatigue. Simple things felt heavy and hard. And some days the news changed every hour so we simply leaned toward each other and prayed.

Then I saw it out of the corner of my eye: a slip of brilliant blue. Could it be? There, between the trees!

Yes, it was water.

“Maybe we should turn around, Mom,” one of my girls said exactly at that moment..

“Oh no, check this out!” I pointed.

We rounded the bend and below us we could see the curve and line of the lake. Blue sky gave way to verdant green hills that dipped down low to rippling water. The lake — a huge lake danced before our eyes.

Here’s the truth: we never made it down to water’s edge that day. The journey was just too long, and we worried about getting home before dark. I finally pulled the truck over, and we snapped a family photo. I gazed out over the landscape for just a few moments.

Although it was vastly different, I couldn’t help but think of the hill Jesus climbed so He could fulfill His purpose. All of these rugged trees meeting the serene water reminded me of that rugged cross holding His body.

And just as we cry out to God today if there’s any way to avoid all this suffering, our own Savior cried out too, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42, ESV).

He accepted His calling. He embraced the inconvenient, the illogical, the isolation, the senseless, and the suffering of it all. He walked with His Father every step of the way.

We, too, must journey on.

We must keep driving on this windy road.

We must give ourselves permission to grieve and lament our losses.

We must cling to hope that there’s a lake and water and respite just around the bend.

We must trust the Father who sees the whole landscape even now.

What’s one way God is calling you to step forward in hope right now?

 

Subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram newsletter for weekly encouragement, recommendations for families “sheltering at home,” and all the behind-the-scenes details about her coming book, Walk, Run, Soar.

 

[bctt tweet=”We must trust the Father who sees the whole landscape even now. -@DorinaGilmore:” username=”incourage”]