The Unexpected Gain of Giving Yourself Away

The Unexpected Gain of Giving Yourself Away

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It was my dream for as long as I can remember, back when a girl imagined true love and a house full of children:

I’d be the mom who baked homemade chocolate chip cookies for her kids after school.

Thus, when I married, it didn’t take long to set up a mixer and buy butter, sugar, and vanilla. I filled my cabinets with all the makings for magic. Even before children entered the story, I baked for my husband with all the love I had in my heart.

When divorce and remarriage changed the ingredients, adding angst to our family mix, I rolled up my sleeves and doubled both my recipes and my love. Day after day I baked, serving up cookie offerings to both children and adults, all of us who mourned our losses.

Seeing my children with cookies in hand, the neighbor kids started to come over (and their parents). Then, the piano students I gave lessons to (and their parents). When my husband started his own business, I baked cookies by the hundreds for new vendors and clients. Not to mention teachers, coaches, and friends and loved ones enduring a crisis.

Soon, I was known as the woman who always had cookies on the kitchen counter. Visitors stopped knocking at the front door, knowing they could walk in whenever they needed a fix. Once a neighbor mentioned buying me a Krispy-Kreme-like sign, one I could light up whenever I pulled a new batch from the oven.

“That way everyone knows when to come over,” she said with a grin.

She might’ve been joking, but I secretly dreamed of such a gift. What a thought! Baking was my way of delivering love on a plate, a small offering of joy and presence for those who needed it most.

I must’ve made thousands of cookies over the span of close to twenty years, far more than most will make in a lifetime. I didn’t mind. Not at all. It was one of my greatest delights during those twenty years of life.

But then a crazy thing called “cancer” took my tongue and my taste.

Afterwards, doctors tried to be optimistic, encouraging me with comments like “At least you’re alive!” They asked me questions like “Can you taste anything?” Every time I answered the same: “A little, but nothing sweet.”

They shrugged and moved on. In their minds, losing taste was nothing compared to gaining life. But they didn’t know about the neighborhood kids, the warm chocolate chip cookies, and the sign I wanted to hang in my window.

They didn’t know.

It’s been difficult for me, learning to live without one of my five senses. You don’t realize how much you savor a thing until you have less of it — or none at all.

Even so.

Recently a dear friend lost a close family member. I ached for her loss but didn’t know what to do. So I got to work in the kitchen, stirring up several dishes to fill up her grief-emptied family. In addition, I baked up my famous, from-scratch chocolate chip cookies.

Then, while the cookies baked, I stopped.

Closed my eyes.

Inhaled.

In a moment, memories of my children, bursting through the front door after school and running for the kitchen counter, warmed me.

I opened my eyes and smiled. Then I got back to work, feeling only the slightest twinge of melancholy at what I knew I was missing. I expected grief and self-pity, maybe a twinge of bitterness at my unfair losses.

Instead, I experienced something more exquisite than the taste of a warm chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven:

Love, an overwhelming wave of sweet, tender love.

My eyes brimmed, my heart pounded, and warmth traveled from my feet up through my chest.

Why? Because healing comes when we choose to love from the place of loss.

I have two questions for you, questions that will likely make you uncomfortable but hold the power of great hope:

  1. What have you lost that you cannot recover? I’m not so naive as to think my silly little loss comes close to comparing with the losses so many of you mourn. I know I can’t possibly fathom the loss of my legs or burying my child. The mere thought makes it hard to breathe. But whatever it is, name it. Acknowledge it. Put it right there on the kitchen counter where you can see it for what it is.
  2. Now, what might you gain by giving it away? In other words, how could that loss become an uncommon companionship to someone else’s pain? There are scores of people who need to know they’re not alone. You have something to offer that so few others have, something hidden beneath the grave of your grief that promises resurrection and new life.

For others, yes. But also for you. Jesus said it this way:

For whoever wants to save their life will lose it,
but whoever loses their life for me will save it.
Luke 9:24 (NIV)

This is the unexpected gain of giving yourself away. It doesn’t mean the losses won’t hurt, and you might feel a wave of anger or sadness now and then. But there is a sweetness found in loving from our lack that can’t be found anywhere else. And, even better, healing happens when the grave of our losses becomes our life-giving offerings of love.

 

[bctt tweet=”Healing comes when we choose to love from the place of loss. -@MicheleCushatt:” username=”incourage”]

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. Standing in the dark auditorium in the first 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 the year, gathering up all my highlights and favorites, my blessings and gratitude. Never one to pretend like 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 2019 for me was that for the first time 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 took my family to Disney World! And published a book! And celebrated my twentieth wedding anniversary!

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. Because 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 full year, 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?

 

[bctt tweet=”He’s not just here when I’m rock solid, believing with all my heart. He’s here, always, no matter what. -@marycarver:” username=”incourage”]

You ARE Winning Your Race!

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Recently, I was given an assignment:

Ask a few people who know you well what they think your biggest strengths are and where they see you being brave in the midst of what you’re dealing with.

Honestly, I was afraid to pose the question to those closest to me. My reservation was not because of what they might or might not say. My friends are beautiful people, so I knew they would respond with encouraging words. I was reluctant to ask them the question because I didn’t want to interrupt their day. My husband is a busy businessman. His time is reserved for clients all over the nation. My friend is a teacher at an elementary school, whose attention is solely focused on the little learners in her class. My other friend is an artist and work-from-home-mom of four, whose care is in constant demand. And my mom, well I am still amazed at how she is less available as a retiree than she was when she worked a full-time job.

I didn’t think that they should be disrupting the rhythm and demands of their day on my behalf. “They don’t have time,” I thought. And I didn’t believe that I was worthy of their encouraging words. So even as I write this, I have no idea why I actually followed through with the assignment (probably because I am a bit of a perfectionist who has to finish what she’s started — classic enneagram one!). So, at the beginning of the day, I quickly texted the question and hit send.

“Well at least I did the assignment,” I thought. I resolved that if no one replied, I would be fine with that. After all, what right did I have to require their time and attention.

The school teacher responded so quickly that I was baffled by how fast she must have read the text and typed her response. It read: 

Your biggest strength is your ability to teach and reach all levels. You do this with such care, and you are super prepared. You have such grace for the “ignorant.”

A few minutes later, the artist-mom-of-four replied:

I think your strength is your ability to transmit the knowledge and peace God has placed within you. This comes across to many as grace, acceptance, wisdom, and a willingness to hear someone’s heart. This connects to how you are brave because you are willing to show this same ability in stressful situations and toward difficult people. This gives you a strong voice in the darkness, but it is not shouting with hate but holding steadfast with love and humility. 

By the afternoon, my mom had texted back with an abridged response, indicating her level of busyness:

Greatest strengths: love for God and all mankind, positive, focused, honest, determined, sincere.

Brave: stepping out in faith. Trusting God.

And in a fashion that is truly my husband, he slid into home base just before bed time with this response:

Strengths: Learning new things, work ethic, caring for people that others discard (and other nice things I’ll keep to myself)

Brave: You are out on a limb doing things that are brand new to you. Connecting all the dots, even the ones outside of your natural strengths and interests.

It was difficult for me to read their words. In the midst of all the challenging and new endeavors that have chased me down and overtaken me, I imagined that those closest to me could only see a whirlwind of anxiety, fear, and panic occupying the space where Lucretia once existed. I have felt like a mess and was sure that is how I was perceived. But their words described the woman I long to be, a woman I would admire and celebrate.

So, I paused to admire her. I looked at how she’d said yes to hard things far outside of her comfort zone. I reflected on how her unconventional methods — the ones that got her rejected by the status quo — had afforded her seats at tables that had been longing to host her. The cost had been significant, but she was confident that the rewards would be exponentially greater. I rejoiced that her fear was overshadowed and outweighed by her courageous love. And this woman, the one those closest to me described, knew that she was not alone. She knew that she was simply an expression of a loving and generous God.

Although I had been reluctant to reach out for them, I paused and considered the gift I’d been given through their affirmations. I needed to gaze at their picture of me. I inhaled. I decided to believe them. I exhaled, refreshed with a new mindset. Where I could only see struggle and exhaustion, friends saw my race marked with endurance and winning.

Now its your turn: Ask a few people who know you well what they think your biggest strengths are and where they see you being brave in the midst of what you’re dealing.

 

[bctt tweet=”Run your race with courage. -@brownicity:” username=”incourage”]

The Gift of a Normal Day

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I stood in front of the oven peeling bacon out of the package and laying out strips on the cookie sheet. My older kids had just jumped on the school bus, and the youngest slept upstairs. After sliding the sheet into the oven, I sat at the kitchen table and opened emails. Just a normal day.

I used to despise normal days. They seemed as colorful as mud. I wanted to do something impactful — not write emails, wash laundry, cook bacon.

After clearing my inbox, I grabbed my phone off the counter and opened Facebook. My feed started with a picture of a friend’s child in the hospital — with leukemia. I scrolled down. An image of a friend’s Honda totaled (but thank God she walked away). I kept scrolling. A picture of a smoothie my friend drank for lunch.

God, thank you for this normal day.

Normal days are a gift — days when healthy kids eat Cheerios before heading out the door, when adults have jobs to drive to, and laundry stains remind us of the chocolate ice cream on Friday night. God created our days from the beginning to be gifted with the rhythms of normal. The sun rises and sets. The body wakes and sleeps.

When God formed Adam and Eve from the dust of the earth, He placed them in the Garden to steward creation. Talk about normal as mud. But when sin entered the world, so also did death, disease, kids with childhood cancer, and husbands who leave.

The oven timer dinged, and I pulled out my crispy bacon, placed a few pieces on a plate, grabbed my coffee, and sat at the kitchen table. In the light of all the chaos in the world, normal moments now seem holy.

My mind wandered to Jesus. What did His normal life look like as Savior of the world? For thirty years — much like that of anyone else in the ancient Near East, I supposed. I imagined Him as a boy running down the path straight through town, playing tag with neighborhood friends. I envisioned Him washing His hands before Mary served fig stew. Maybe as an adult, He spent His afternoons carving wood — shaving by shaving — as a master carpenter, following Joseph’s trade. If normal life was sacred enough for Jesus, maybe it is for us as well.

His miracles restored people to normalcy. When Jesus healed a little girl, she ate (Mark 5:41-43). Jesus didn’t tell her to leave everything and live an “extraordinary” life. Or how about Peter’s mother who lay ill? Jesus healed her, and she immediately returned to normal housework, serving those in her home (Luke 4:38-39). When Lazarus rose from the dead by Jesus’ words, he testified to the miracle, yes, but he also returned to his life — whatever work he performed before the healing.

If Jesus used His miraculous powers to heal the lame, dead, and sick — only for them to return to regular rhythms of life — shouldn’t we rethink the gift of a normal day? Not every day will include heal-the-blind moments. Goodness, Moses watched sheep for forty years in the desert before ever seeing a burning bush only to return to the desert for another forty years helping fickle people get along and obey God.

What does your normal day look like? Maybe normal for you (like me) right now is raising kids. But maybe you care for an aging parent, work long hours at the office launching a new product, or clean houses.

Sometimes God leads us in seasons that are extraordinary, exciting, new. But most of the time, God leads us through “normal.” Get up. Go to work. Come home. Go to sleep. Repeat.

Some seasons of normal hurt — like the months I visited my dad during my lunch break as I watched him weaken from brain cancer. The day he died was one of the worst non-normal days of my life.

And those days of extraordinary bliss? Yes. They are beautiful. Marrying my best friend in the presence of three hundred of our favorite people on a warm Southern California night, then taking off for seven days in Maui? Amazing. But then after the honeymoon? We went back to our day jobs — the gift of normal.

I finished my cup of coffee and bacon, closed my computer, and walked upstairs to my daughter’s room. She greeted me with, “Mama, it’s you.” A normal greeting from a normal little girl on a normal Wednesday. And the rest of the day was normal, too.

 

[bctt tweet=”If Jesus used his miraculous powers to heal the lame, dead, and sick—only for them to return to regular rhythms of life—shouldn’t we rethink the gift of a normal day? -@Seana_S_Scott:” username=”incourage”]

Happy Launch Day to
For All Who Wander!

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Faith is tidy and neat for some, never unwavering and always so sure. And maybe that’s how you used to feel, but now your once-sure beliefs are less certain, the prescribed faith of your youth no longer enough.

Perhaps life isn’t turning out like you thought it would. Heartbreak and challenges stir doubt. Sunday school answers fall short. God seems distant.

If you’ve grown up in the church or identified as a Christian for any length of time even, there’s a good chance you’ve wrestled with doubts or questions. Maybe right now you, or others you care about, are struggling in faith and life but longing to believe.

We hear you, sister, and we’re with you.

That’s why we’re so thrilled that our newest book, For All Who Wander, by (in)courage writer Robin Dance, is now available.

Yay!!

For All Who Wander: Why Knowing God is Better Than Knowing it All is ready for you. It’s ready to sit with you while you grab a cup of coffee, pour another cup for a friend, and open your heart to the waiting world. It’s ready to be read by a book club, wrapped up in a birthday gift, stashed in a purse for a carpool or waiting room read. It’s ready to have a place in your life, and to help give you hope for your future.

If what you know in your head isn’t aligning with the gut-level truth of your heart, For All Who Wander is the book for you. As you walk through Robin’s story with her, you’ll find out for yourself that sometimes wandering is the path that leads you back to God.

We are so excited to hear how Robin’s heartfelt stories and Biblical encouragement impact your heart. For All Who Wander is now available at Amazon, DaySpring, LifeWay, and wherever books are sold. When you get your copy, be sure to snap a picture for Instagram and include #forallwhowanderbook in your caption so we can share in the fun!

Friends, this book? It’s for you, in the same story-sharing way (in)courage is for you. This book is for all those who want to recognize and operate out of their true identity in light of who Christ is. It’s for those who want to abandon the guilt and shame attached to having questions or doubts, and consider the factors that have led to this season of wandering. And it will reassure you that God is working whether or not you sense His presence.

Order your copy of For All Who Wander: Why Knowing God is Better Than Knowing it All today!

On Finding Your People and a Place to Call Home

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It’s official! I did something. I did it with a bit of apprehension and a good deal of hope. Basically, I joined a new church. That may not seem like a big deal to you, but for me, it’s huge. A while back, I touched on experiencing some church hurt that completely caught me off guard and how that was a catalyst in possibly leaving a church I had been a part of in some capacity for twenty years.

About fifteen months ago, I met some people after attending a conference at a local church, and it has changed my life. This new community has welcomed me in with open arms. Some have even said that it feels as though I have always gone there. Despite this, I didn’t want to make any rash decisions or decisions made out of hurt, anger, or bitterness from my last church.

So, I have taken the past fifteen months to learn and grow under this new church’s leadership. I have connected with members on a heart level. I’ve broken bread, celebrated, and even walked through some hard valleys. It has filled my soul with such joy.

Last week, I had a meeting with the pastors and discussed me possibly becoming a member. The Lord literally told me everything my heart needed to hear. I was in awe of His kindness and attention to the smallest details of my life.

A few months ago, this verse came up in a sermon and I knew what my word would be for 2020: dwell.

One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek Him in His temple.
Psalm 27:4 (NIV)

With this transition to a new church family, I knew that I wanted this new year to embody going deeper into these new relationships. Over the past couple of years, I have experienced disconnects in some of my friendships. I have poured out in friendship, but it hasn’t been reciprocated. It hurt, and it’s been hard, but I was made for connection. And so are you.

At the beginning of last year, the Lord called me back into wholehearted devotion to Him. That hasn’t changed, but now He is calling me back to deep devotion to community.

Navigating relationships of any kind is not easy, but it can be simple. Here are some things God has taught me that I want to carry into this new community:

Seek God first.

This is key. This is foundational. If our relationships with the Lord are lacking, nothing else fits into place. I truly believe I have let the Lord lead me in this whole process of transitioning churches. I didn’t go looking for a new church in reaction to being hurt. It actually came out of nowhere. When God divinely crafts His plans, there is so much peace attached to it. His leading comes out of those sweet times when we have just sat in His presence and listened to His still small voice. The Father wants to guide us intimately into the center of His will, and all we need to do is listen and obey.

Seek God together.

I am an advocate for the local church, and I love the verse that commands us to not forsake the assembly of the brethren. I actually have never felt guilt attached to this verse as some may have. I have actually been encouraged and challenged by it. No matter what has been going on in my life or in relationships or in the church itself, I have never wanted those things to deter me from gathering with the body. Again, not easy, but I do believe I have been intentional in this area.

Prayer and worship corporately has always knitted my heart and spirit with others. It’s been quite beautiful and powerful. I can’t wait to see how God moves in me and through me in this new space this year.

God created us out of unity — Father, Son and Holy Spirit — for unity — one body, many parts.

We all have something to glean from each other, and we all have something to offer one another. May we keep our eyes and hearts open to the leading of His Spirit. He has a place and a people for you to call home.

If you have found your people, I would love to hear about them!
If you haven’t, I would love to pray for you!

 

[bctt tweet=”God created us out of unity — Father, Son and Holy Spirit — for unity — one body, many parts. #community #church -@karina268:” username=”incourage”]

The Good News of the Gospel

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Blessed is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavens in Christ. For he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and blameless in love before him. He predestined us to be adopted as sons through Jesus Christ for himself, according to the good pleasure of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace that he lavished on us in the Beloved One.

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he richly poured out on us with all wisdom and understanding. He made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he purposed in Christ 10 as a plan for the right time — to bring everything together in Christ, both things in heaven and things on earth in him.

In him we have also received an inheritance, because we were predestined according to the plan of the one who works out everything in agreement with the purpose of his will, so that we who had already put our hope in Christ might bring praise to his glory.

In him you also were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and when you believed. The Holy Spirit is the down payment of our inheritance, until the redemption of the possession, to the praise of his glory.
Ephesians 1:3-14 (CSB)

These verses summarize the gospel for us. We have been chosen from the very beginning to be God’s children, redeemed through Christ’s blood shed for us. We have been promised and given the Holy Spirit, who is God with us, and we have now been blessed with every spiritual blessing.

And this gospel truly is good news. We, who were lost, unseen, and broken, are now chosen, loved, and are being redeemed for the day when we will be with Him forever.

Today, let’s not take for granted the grace given to us and the salvation that continues to save us and for a God whose love for us never diminishes.

 

[bctt tweet=”Today, let’s not take for granted the grace given to us and the salvation that continues to save us and for a God whose love for us never diminishes. ” username=”incourage”]

A Voice of Help and Hope When Struggling with Your Health

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My journey to a diagnosis of an autoimmune disease started early in 2017. I have not felt well since then. It’s been nearly three years. Tough doesn’t seem a strong enough word to describe this time. It’s not just the physical pain and symptoms that made it so hard. It was the waiting, the unanswered questions, the unending testing, the multiple doctors, the not knowing. It was the fight to find out what was wrong so I could just feel better.

This is not an easy fight to be in. So many times I’ve wanted to just forget about the whole thing. I’ve wanted to stop all the doctors and tests. I’ve been physically and emotionally spent.

But God.

He was with me every step of the way. When I was weak, He was my strength. When I wanted to give up, He reminded me how important I was. I was worthy of good health, and I could not give up on myself because He would never give up on me.

Through this journey, I have heard so many stories of strength and endurance — years of feeling sick with no answers why, countless doctors with no answers to give. I have learned it takes an average of nearly five years and several doctors to receive a diagnosis for an autoimmune disease, and that is just an average. So although some might get one quickly, most are searching for years for answers.

I want to encourage anyone desperately struggling for answers, trying to hold onto hope, trying to find peace and wellness, to keep going. You are fighting a battle most people can’t see and don’t understand, but there are people like us out there that do understand.

Keep fighting for you. It is so hard, but keep going.

Let me tell you something: you are strong. You are stronger than you know because God is on your side. He knows. He will not abandon you. God will never give up on you.

Before doctors found my husband’s giant brain aneurysm, he knew something wasn’t right. He wasn’t feeling right. He was getting a lot of head pain and pain behind his eye. We saw plenty of doctors and were always sent home to tough it out and use some strong ibuprofen. But because my husband knew something wasn’t right, we just kept going until a doctor finally ordered a CT scan and that is how they found the aneurysm. I don’t want to think about what would have happened had we given up because it was such a frustrating road.

Keep advocating and doing what you need to do for your wellness. You deserve answers.

After hitting one dead end after another, it’s easy to lose confidence and want to quit. But I am here today to cheer you on. You are not making this up. Your suffering is real. Your symptoms are real. You just haven’t found the answers you deserve yet. You will find a path forward. It will be physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting, but lean on Him. Stay pressed into Him.

When I think of struggling and suffering, I think about this verse:

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.
Romans 5:3-4 (ESV)

It’s hard to think that we would rejoice in our sufferings. Why would I want to rejoice for having a difficult, lifelong disease? How can I rejoice for pain and struggling? But I can think about rejoicing because I know God is doing something in the midst of all this. And that is something to hold on to.

Take your difficult journey and see it as an opportunity to do something with God — a journey filled with life lessons that produce endurance, character, and hope.

For those of you struggling with your health, with a diagnosis or lack of diagnosis, or with any difficult situation for that matter, know that you don’t have to struggle alone. Let God walk with you. Hold onto Him and don’t let go. Hear how others have endured and know you can too. Let these words be a voice of help and hope if you are in a darkness you never imagined. Sometimes you have to fight through the night to get to the blessing in the morning.

You got this because He has you!

 

[bctt tweet=”For those of you struggling with your health, with a diagnosis or lack of diagnosis, or with any difficult situation for that matter, know that you don’t have to struggle alone. -Jennifer Ueckert:” username=”incourage”]

What I Hope You Give Yourself in 2020

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In an eatery tucked away in the corner of town, David and I sat at a table for two. It was a noisy, crowded restaurant, one composed of several small rooms with tables and chairs squeezed in like some kind of furniture Tetris. Old photos and mementos covered every square inch of the walls. I looked around from our tiny table and began to feel anxious and twitchy. I mentioned this to David, and he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, not much empty space in here, is there?”

I smiled and shook my head back and forth.

A bit later David excused himself to use the restroom, and I took out my phone to check email. I saw an article attached in an email about a new-to-me thing: “highly sensitive people.” I’m not sure why I clicked on the article as I’ve never heard of this thing called “highly sensitive people.” As the article loaded on my phone, I thought to myself, “Oh, this must be about people who get their feelings hurt easily.” But as I read the article, I discovered this isn’t what being a highly sensitive person means at all. Rather, a highly sensitive person is someone whose nervous system and sensory levels are easily overwhelmed, and this can manifest itself in several ways.

I looked up and saw my husband talking with someone he knew from work, so I clicked over to the online test referenced in the email, and out of twenty-seven total questions that describe characteristics of highly sensitive people, I discovered twenty-six of them were true for me.

Well.

David came back and as he sat down, I blurted out, “Baby! Okay, you know the way that I am?”

He looked at me and quipped, “Uhhh, you’ll have to be more specific.”

I replied, “Like how I just mentioned the crowded tables and decor in here make me twitchy. And how I always turn off the overhead lighting in a room and use lamp light instead. And how you often say I startle easily and have a nose like a bloodhound that smells every little thing.”

“Oh that. Yep, those things about you are all true.”

I practically jumped out of my chair. “Well, being that way is a legit thing! I’m an HSP — a highly sensitive person!”

We talked a bit more about what that means before David took the test himself. Not surprising to either one of us, he found only two of the twenty-seven true for him. We’re opposites like that.

Still, it was delightful to discover I’m not out of my ever-lovin’ mind because I am easily overwhelmed by my environment. I’m just a highly sensitive person. It’s a real thing, y’all!

(And all the HSPs said Amen!)

I wish I’d learned this sooner about myself. It would have saved me from beating myself up and apologizing for being what I thought was crazy sensitive. Now I clearly see I’m wired that way. And while this makes me more susceptible to certain pitfalls in our busy, blaring world, it also makes me a more compassionate individual who senses and sees things, things that are helpful rather than handicaps to a good life.

Ten short days into the New Year, some of us are still shaking confetti out of our hair and holding both good and difficult memories from 2019 in our hands. In time, however, our thoughts will turn to what we hope to see in 2020. As I begin to pray on this to the God of heaven, I want to put into practice the words of Flannery O’Conner,

“Please help me to get down under things and find where You are.”
A Prayer Journal

For me, part of getting down under things is taking the time to get to know myself. At first glance, that sentence sounds mighty indulgent. But then again, the better I get to know myself, the better I give to others around me, the more effectively I use my talents and gifts to affectionately love on others in my circles, the more assured I am that I belong where I am, as I am — where Christ has me today. 

The same fingers that flung the stars in the heavens wove your DNA into being. You were made on purpose for a purpose. God’s hands purposely designed you as you so you could best complete the hand-picked purpose He’s designed for you.

I’m praying you give yourself the gift of joyfully discovering how these two things beautifully relate. And when you discover this, may you joyfully discover Him.

 

[bctt tweet=”The same fingers that flung the stars in the heavens wove your DNA into being. -@Kristen_Strong:” username=”incourage”]

Maybe We Should Just Say No to “New Year, New You”

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Before the presents were wrapped to later be unwrapped, before candles flickered during Christmas Eve services, before we all returned to work and the calendar flipped from December to January, I heard it.

In Instagram captions and my Facebook newsfeed, during conversations with friends and while listening to podcast episodes, a message rang loud and clear:

New year, new you.

How can four small words carry such weight? The pressure feels like a burden. I’m overwhelmed and exhausted just at the idea.

To be honest, 2019 is not a year I’d like to repeat. It was challenging in ways I may never find words for, but there’s another path running alongside every difficulty: growth.

Most of the growth happened below the surface, roots reaching down deep, and while there’s a long way still to go (and grow), there’s comfort in knowing the same One who was with me every day of 2019 will walk with me through 2020 as well.

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.
Joshua 1:9 (NLT)

For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.
Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

“Remember that I am always with you until the end of time.”
Matthew 28:20b (GW)

I’m not interested in a “new you” route. But growth? Wholeness? Learning to see myself and my ordinary everyday through His eyes? Absolutely.

I want to speak with kindness to others and to myself, to choose grace instead of guilt, to unlearn shame and let go of hurry. I want to take off the layers of my old self to see the already-made-new woman underneath (2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 4:22-24, and Colossians 3:1-17).

New year, new you? No thanks.

I want this instead:

New year, same God.

On Christmas afternoon, after the table was cleared and the torn wrapping paper picked up, I pulled out The Greatest Gift and read these words, the “new you” weight falling off my shoulders with each sentence:

“He is the God who is so for us that He can’t stay away from us. The God who loves us and likes us and isn’t merely 50 percent or 72.3 percent for us, but the God who is always, unequivocally, 100 percent for us — the God who so likes us, the God who is so for us that He is the God who chooses to be with us.”

He didn’t call Himself “I Might Be” or “I Was.” He is the right-this-very-second, in-this-moment, always-with-you God. He is the God of Right Now. “I Am.”

God come to us, God come for us, God forever with us.⁣ Emmanuel.⁣

He sees us and He sees us through every high and every low, every ordinary in-between. El Roi.

It’s just as true on January 9th as it is on December 25th. He’s as faithful and good, loving and present, on this page of the calendar as He was on the last.

He’s the God who comes and stays and sees, and more than anything else in 2020, I want to see Him with 20/20 vision.

In the difficult roadblocks, in the wide open spaces, in the twists and turns of what seem to be confusing detours, and in the benches along the way that welcome me to pause and rest. In happy hellos and grief-filled goodbyes, in tears that lead to laughter and laughter that leads to tears, may we see Him every step of the way, present on every page.

Emmanuel, God with us every day of the year.

In every moment and every change, the unchanging One remains. He sees us . . . may we see Him ever more clearly in the coming days.

New year, same God.

 

[bctt tweet=”He didn’t call Himself “I Might Be” or “I Was.” He is the right-this-very-second, in-this-moment, always-with-you God. He is the God of Right Now. “I Am.”⁣ – @kaitlyn_bouch” username=”incourage”]

The Sacred Work of Trying Softer

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With a heart about to burst, I walked down the aisle to Pachabel’s Canon in D toward the one who was choosing me and I, him. I felt Brendan’s gaze on my face, and his steady love caused me to feel grounded in a way that was still new to me. The air was thick with anticipation, joy, and a touch of grief. I had just finished my first year of graduate school for counseling, and in every sense of the word, I had fought to protect the joy of my wedding day.

My dad had chosen not to be present, and neither was much of my extended family — and this reality created a deep ache. And yet Brendan and I were entering a redemptive moment that would begin our life together. It was beautiful and overwhelming at the same time.

When I reached him at the front of the church, Brendan whispered, “Aundi, look around. Take a snapshot in your brain of this moment. We’re here — we’re doing this. Let’s not miss it.”

While I didn’t yet have the language to describe paying compassionate attention to myself or what I would come to call it later — trying softer — Brendan’s words on that day anchored me. They reminded me to give myself permission to feel fully loved and connected to God, myself, and my spouse, even while grief was present there too.

After Brendan whispered those words to me, I exhaled slowly and felt my feet beneath me. I suddenly noticed the weight of my dress and the lighting in the grand old synagogue that had been turned into a church. The late afternoon summer sun streamed in through the stained glass windows and cast a rainbow of pastels on the sanctuary. When we turned to face our guests, I looked around at each face sitting in the pews, and I actually saw them. I gave myself space to be loved by those who were there to support me.

I peered out at each of my siblings — my sister, who’d long been my best friend and confidant, and my three brothers, with their wit, courage, and gentleness. I saw my mom, and though she looked tired and was fairly new to her own recovery journey, I saw how much she loved me and hoped for my life ahead. Seeing my soon to be in-laws and my husband’s family moved me greatly too.

It was then that tears began to stream down my face, because while the day wasn’t perfect, it felt sacred, and I wasn’t missing it.

I look back on my wedding day now as an Ebenezer; a sign of God’s faithfulness to me (1 Samuel 7:7-12). Even now, I return to those moments as a piece of gold in my story that reminds me God is with me as I hold the fullness of my human experience. Though they are uneasy companions at times, joy and grief are intricately connected. In the last decade as a licensed therapist, I have learned that the key to holding these seemingly contradictory experiences together is to learn to pay compassionate attention to all that our minds, bodies, and souls are actually experiencing. It’s in this space of gentleness that we can move through the good and the hard, and allow God to meet us in their midst.

In a world that tells us to try harder—it’s time for something different. It’s time to try softer. We think if we just keep going, keep hustling, keep pretending everything is great, we’ll find success and happiness. But clinical therapist Aundi Kolber knows this leaves us overworked, overwhelmed, and exhausted. In her debut book, Try Softer, Aundi teaches us how to set boundaries, grow in self-compassion, and more in order to live a life of connection and joy. Trying softer is sacred work. And while it won’t be perfect or easy, it will be worth it.

GIVEAWAY!*

We are so excited about the message of this new book that we just can’t wait to share it with you! Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win one of FIVE copies!

*Giveaway will close at 11:59pm CT on 1/10/2020. Open to US residents only. 

 

[bctt tweet=”Move out of anxiety, stress and survival mode and into a life of connection and joy. -@aundikolber in her debut book, #trysofter: ” username=”incourage”]

When We Face Loneliness in Hospital Hallways

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The hospital room is dark, but the lights from the machines are as brightly lit as nightlights. My son is asleep in his hospital bed, tethered to the equipment that drips liquid into his veins and monitors his heart.

Down the hall, nurses work at computers. They tread softly past doors. A gloomy sadness falls over me like dark clouds coming before a rain storm. They enter our room in the dark hours of the night, quiet figures in the shadows, checking my son’s vitals. They are not here to cheer me up or make me feel better. They’re here to do their job, to alleviate pain, but not to offer company.

I take a break and walk the halls, sneaking peeks into other patients’ rooms. I see tired parents and bed-ridden children, staring absentmindedly at the TV or sleeping. Most are like me, one parent staying with a sick child so the other parent can keep the family functioning at home. We did not choose to be here, but this is what we must do for our children.

I meet a young mother doing laundry near the parent’s lounge. She is alone, and I sense, as lonely as I am. As parents, we know what it’s like to be part of the sick child club, and so one of the first questions we ask is, “Why is your child here?” followed by, “How long have you been here?” Our lives, once ruled by the frequency of diaper changes and playdates, is now ruled by medical terms we’ve been forced to learn and counting down the hours until we can leave.

“So why are you here?” I ask. She glances up at me as she folds tiny baby garments that look like they’d fit a doll.

“Oh, my baby is in the NICU,” she says. “He’s been here for three months.”

“Three months?” I say. She is one of the marathoners.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m doing laundry here,” she replies. I hear the false cheer in her voice, the strain of too much isolation, the longing for home.

I understand that kind of pain. The hospital had become a second home for our family since my son was diagnosed with a genetic disease at nine months old. I never expected to feel so lonely in the hospital with my child, where I was surrounded by people but isolated from my community of support, too far from home to find any sense of normal or to feel God’s presence.

What I wanted in the darkness of our hospital room was a familiar face. I wanted home. I craved God’s comforting presence. But I didn’t want to be stuck in this place, another night sleeping on a hard couch.

Therein lies the problem with loneliness. It’s not the absence of people; it’s the absence of familiar people — the ones who love you as you are, the community of friends who provide a secure base of stability and comfort when you’re in distress.

But loneliness can also be the absence of connection with God, of tuning into His presence and being reminded that He does not leave us when we feel most alone. Sometimes in the midst of beeping medical machines, it was hard for me to remember that God was here too.

In Psalm 25:16-17, the Psalmist says, “Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish.”

When we are lonely, that is when we ask Jehovah Jireh, the Lord who supplies our needs, to relieve us of our troubles. Our hearts long for Him, but until we turn to Him and tap deeply into that life-giving relationship and His unconditional love, then we are left searching for poor substitutes.

In our need, we search for alternatives to fill the holes in our hearts. We wander hospital halls looking for something that reminds us of home, when what we need is to grasp hold of the relief God offers when we’re struggling with isolation. Like the Psalmist, we can cry out to God in our loneliness. His heart is always our home, no matter where we are.

Even in the midst of a hospital room, we can find God waiting there for us — waiting in the night, holding us through the long darkness.

 

[bctt tweet=”We can cry out to God in our loneliness. -@SaraRWard:” username=”incourage”]

If You Had One Week Left to Live?

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Stowed away in our attic, I dusted off my high school diary. Paging through memories of old, I am instantly transported to a time in my life when school, friends, boys, and parents triggered to-do lists and declarations, resolutions, and remorse. A time when affirmation was currency and attention was the payment. Years have passed since those musings, but hidden in the heart of this brand new, fifty-year-old woman, still lurks glimpses of that sixteen-year-old.

Lose weight. Stop snacking late at night. Get more organized for class. (Yes, some of my resolutions have spanned the decades.)

Talk quieter. Talk less (Does anyone else still hear their grade school teacher’s reprimand?)

But my heart swelled when I read the next challenge:

Look for a lonely girl and become her friend.

While that resolution stemmed from the high school girl’s yearning for a collective identity, some things never change. I had no idea that a heartbeat of my book, “Just Open the Door: How One Invitation Can Change a Generation,” was already etched in my diary.

Whether sixteen or seventy-six, our hearts ache to be included. We crave connection. Knitted into our DNA is a hidden longing for deeply-rooted relationships that journey through life with us: someone to notice, acknowledge, and see us right where we are with no ulterior agenda. And while no one can know us fully or fill our intimate longing in the way that God can, He has designed us to come together in community because He created us for fellowship.

So with my old diary’s resolution in mind, I gathered the kids for our New Year’s family meeting.*  Every January, we carve out time to reevaluate and reflect on the past year. We ponder lessons learned, talk through challenging failures, and honor goals completed. As we mark the ways God has worked in our lives, we celebrate His goodness and then cast a vision for the new year.

This gathering began with a new twist. I have a box of conversation starters on our table that I printed out years ago, and one of them asks the question, “If you had one week to live, how would you spend your time?” Instead of creating the bucket list experience one might expect, we opened to 1 Peter 4:7-11. I urged the kids to examine Peter’s stated priorities and brainstorm ideas from this passage.

Before you continue, won’t you join me in reading and create your own list from Scripture? Peter casts a vision for our future. What does it include?

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. 10 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)

Peter gave his own prognosis when he announced to the believers that “the end of all things is near” (v.7). He knew time was of the essence, but his priorities were not what we’d expect. If I announced to you, “The world is ending soon. What are you going to do?” You’d likely not reply, “I’m going to show hospitality.” I was shocked when I filtered this passage through the lens of that question. Yet if we had any doubt as to the importance of showing hospitality, loving deeply, and serving others, this is our answer without question.

As Christ followers, these are the expectations, and one of the easiest ways to show His love in a tangible, life giving way is to invite, include, and welcome others into community: to practice hospitality (and yes, to do it without grumbling).

January is the perfect chance for a fresh start — a time to reframe resolutions and cast a new family vision with kingdom purpose in mind. Love deeply. Open doors. Serve others. Create margin to pursue hospitality so that God may be glorified.

I can’t wait to hear what He does in 2020.

If Peter mentioned to you, “the end of all things is near,”
how would you spend your time?

*How to plan a family meeting: Take time this month to think back on 2019 and mark the ways you’ve seen God work personally in your own life, as well as your family’s. Express gratitude in tangible ways to those who have invested in your life and/or impacted the lives of your children. Write a note or invite them to “thank you” dinner. Outline core family values for the new year including specific ways you will serve on mission and extend hospitality in 2020.

 

[bctt tweet=”As Christ followers, one of the easiest ways to show His love in a tangible, life giving way is to invite, include, and welcome others into community. -Jen Schmidt (@beautyandbedlam):” username=”incourage”]

How to Deal With People Who
Try to Bring You Down

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I recently got an email at 3:30 a.m. from a subscriber to my blog. It was the second email I’d gotten from her, and it was filled with such harshness and contempt that it made me literally gasp out loud.

Her email was a stark reminder of a culture of meanness that has cropped up around us. It’s a meanness that is fueled by narcissism, by a wave of cynicism, and an over-appreciation for snark. This meanness is the stuff of playground bullies, bosses who mistreat their employees, and even blog readers who tap out cruel comments in the blue glow of their computer screen, while wearing their 3:30 a.m. brave.

Meanness and narcissism hold hands. Meanness says, “What I feel matters most. I have no empathy for you. If you are in the way, I will run you over.”

I wanted to type back the most awful, non-Christian response to the meanie in my inbox. But then I took a deep breath while standing in that tidal wave of meanness. I took three important steps, and maybe those three steps will help you if you’re having to deal with mean people in your inbox or in your everyday life.

First of all, allow yourself to feel the pain.

We should not ignore the pain we feel. We need to acknowledge the fact that meanness hurts. But we don’t have to let that pain fuel a negative response.

Second, refuse to seek revenge.

Revenge only perpetuates the cycle of meanness set in motion by your attacker. Sometimes, we simply have to walk away from mean people, which takes a great amount of strength, dignity, and courage.

Third, be kind.

Yes, we really can be kind — which is not to be confused with “we will be doormats.” We shouldn’t allow people to walk all over us, but we don’t have to fight fire with fire either. We can be grace-filled, even in the face of nastiness. However, if bullies aren’t receptive toward good will, there will come a time when you must turn away and walk toward those who will receive the kindness within you.

Take that kindness within you and turn it toward the hurting, the broken, the friend down the road who is going through a tough time.

Also (and yes, perhaps more difficult):

Be kind to the people who annoy you, 

To the telemarketer who calls over the supper hour,

To the kid who broke your favorite lamp,

To the employee who messed up the report.

It doesn’t mean we excuse bad behavior, but it does mean that we can choose kindness as one way to put the brakes on a cycle of meanness.

Someone once said this: “In a world where you can be anything, be kind.” That’s great advice, but it’s not easy.

Mean is easy. Mean is a weak person’s disguise of strength and power. The harder, braver choice? Kindness. It’s one of the most underrated virtues of our time, but it’s rooted in Scripture.

The Apostle Paul wrote that we ought to make kindness part of our daily wardrobe.

Therefore, as God’s chosen people . . . clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Colossians 3:12 (HCSB, emphasis added)

What did that look like for me after I got that cruel email? I politely and briefly emailed the subscriber back, but I waited until the next day. I took a few moments to pray for her; it’s quite possible she was dealing with difficult circumstances in her own life.

Believe me, I wanted to be mean. (If you look closely, you can still see the teeth marks in my tongue.) But more than revenge I wanted this:

I wanted the cycle of meanness to end with me. 

I am learning that our attitudes are contagious. Our grumpiness is contagious. Our meanness is contagious. Our happiness is contagious. And our kindness is contagious.

This week, you and I will both face people who will step on our toes. Someone will drop a passive-aggressive comment in your Facebook feed. Your spouse will pick a fight. The TSA agent will get snippy. But you? You will have a choice what to do next.

Choose kindness. It’s contagious.

 

[bctt tweet=”Our attitudes are contagious, so let’s choose kindness. -@dukeslee:” username=”incourage”]

A Prayer of Trust

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

Even though we wish we could see all that is to come this year, let’s loosen our tight grips of control and with open palms, trust in God because His goodness, love, and faithfulness are real.

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

How can we pray for you?

Here at (in)courage, one of our greatest privileges is turning to God together in prayer. Let’s hold space for one another in prayer, so  leave a prayer request in the comments and then pray for the person who commented before you.

 

[bctt tweet=”Let’s pray for each other! Join the (in)courage prayer chain on the blog today!” username=”incourage”]

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.

 

[bctt tweet=”Maybe you need to hear this too as you start the new year: You’re right where you’re supposed to be. -@gracepcho:” username=”incourage”]