God Leans in Close to Hear the Voices of His Children

God Leans in Close to Hear the Voices of His Children

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My youngest son, Miles, whispers from his bed at night.

His words draw me close. “Mama,” he asks, “will you read to me?” Scooting over, he makes room for me under his blankets, and we snuggle in close before he asks one more thing of me. “Mama, ” he says, “sing me the song.

Quietly, I begin our familiar bedtime song and hear his little voice chime in before he gently drifts off to sleep.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
 
As I slip out of bed, tucking the covers gently around him and rubbing his back, I pause to listen to his tiny snores. I attempt to memorize the curve of his little cheeks. Then, kissing him on the top of his head, I breathe in the smell of his shampoo and notice the way his hair splays out on his pillowcase printed with dinosaurs.  
 
He’s perfect to me; he’s my child.
 
I am a mother of four and in this current season of life, we are very busy. But “busy” is not a badge of honor I wear proudly. In fact, most days, it is my deepest lament, as I witness time slipping through my fingers, wishing I could slow it down and take a deep breath.  

I often crave the ability to turn back time and call my own mother into my bedroom at night, asking her to read and sing to me and rub my back one more time, just like I did as a child. But, now I’m the grown-up. The mother, the one being called upon . . . but, sometimes, I’m too tired to do the reading, singing, and comforting requested of me.  
 
On those tired days, “mom guilt” clouds my mind and shame whispers a familiar song. You should be doing more, I hear, day in and day out. I lay my head on my pillow at night, willing sleep to come,  desperate to shut out all the noise. If only there were someone I could call on to read and sing to me. Someone to rub my back, pausing to memorize the things they love about me.

I’m reminded of a verse that bubbles up in my soul after years of keeping it on repeat in my heart.

Because he bends down to listen. I will pray as long as I have breath! 
Psalm 116: 2 

When I was a new mother suffering from postpartum depression, sleepless nights, a colicky baby, and breastfeeding struggles, it was in the quiet hours I would pray and think on that verse. I even had it taped up to our refrigerator. The mere idea of being known and seen with such deep affection always brought peace to my weary soul. 
 
In the busiest, hardest, most exhausting season of my life, I learned to quiet my mind with expectant comfort. As I tended to my children, leaning in to listen to their whispers, I would call out to God — desperate for relief and believing in a Father who knew every hair on my head. Often, tears would pool in the corners of my eyes, and my breath would choke as I squeaked out tiny-voiced prayers, all while patting the back of a colicky-crying baby in the wee hours of the night.

Even though the days were long — and the nights even longer — hope spilled into my soul at the mere thought of a big, powerful God leaning in close to hear me choke out prayers with what little breath I had.

So, now, when I find myself laden with mom guilt or the shame of not doing enough, feeling restless or worn out, this whisper of truth spills into my soul: 

When we cry out for comfort, our Heavenly Father hears us. 
 
God does not grow weary; He leans in close to hear the voices of His children.  

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

From Trash to Treasure

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Last week I popped into a local thrift store. This is nothing new for me. Thrifting, yard sales, and second-hand shopping are so much a part of my DNA that I even have a separate line item in my budget solely designated for thrifting. When I see an unsuspecting garage sale sign, I’m that annoying driver in front of you who slams on her brakes and makes a quick U-turn, but I always wave apologetically, acknowledging my impulsive decision.

While I’ve spent decades dusting old wares in second-hand stores, I understand that thrifting isn’t for everyone. Yet for me, the melting pot mentality of America is embodied in a thrift store. I love that people from all nations, socioeconomic and political backgrounds shop side by side on their trash-to-treasure hunting quest. At a thrift store, one can look around the parking lot and observe vehicles ranging from BMW’s to Beretta’s, find shelves stocked with both jewels and junk, and see purchasers who carry Amex Gold cards, food stamps, and everything in between.

So this day was like any other errand day. I gave myself a little margin to stop into a few stores between appointments because frequent store pop-ins and persistence are the answer to my friends’ lament, “Jen, you always find such great stuff. Why can’t I ever find anything?”

As I strolled the aisles with my eagle eyes and picked up a rusty odd-shaped bowl (or maybe it was a box, I hadn’t quite figured it out yet), the woman next to me inquired, “Now what would you do with that old thing?”

“That is a good question,” I replied. “ It doesn’t look like much, but it’s got a unique shape, so I think I’ll spray paint it and use it for cut flowers.”

“Hmm. I never thought of doing something like that before.” She moved down the aisle and picked up another item from the shelf. “How about this?”

And so it began. The next thirty minutes felt like a pilot to my new HGTV show where a shopping companion tries to stump me with every odd item in the store.

The funny thing was that this fellow shopper and I couldn’t have been more different. But I had a choice right then: I could easily view her questions as an irritating interruption to a busy schedule, or I could choose to see this opportunity of “hospitality on the go” as a divine appointment. I didn’t get much shopping done on that “quick” pop-in, but Mary (my new friend) and I bonded in a way that only the Lord orchestrates. 

As we rolled our carts towards the checkout, Mary paused, “Do you HAVE to shop at this store?” 

“Right now I don’t, but I’ve had seasons of unemployment and financial uncertainty when I did. The Lord amazed my family over and over again during those challenging times by providing sweet secondhand surprises. And better yet, He did it for pennies on the dollar allowing me to steward what little I had in my pocketbook.”

I knew she wasn’t expecting that kind of honesty, but I felt called to continue.

“I don’t know if you have any kind of faith story, Mary, but I truly believe that if Jesus walked these streets today, He would definitely hang out at His local thrift store. Not only would He love this kind of diversity, but there’s a Bible verse where we’re assured that He is the Master of ‘making all things new.’ If He can wipe our tears, heal the blind, and make the lame walk, surely He can surprise us by turning someone else’s trash into our treasure. I know because He’s done it for me time and time again. He is the giver of all good things.” (Read Revelation 21:3-5!)

I waited for her to laugh at my answer or call me crazy but instead, she declared, “I haven’t had this much fun shopping in a long time. I’ve learned so much from you and I wish I could shop with you all the time.”

We gave each other a quick awkward hug. I mean, we were essentially strangers, but it didn’t feel that way anymore. And to think that I almost rushed by her in the aisle because I viewed her as an interruption rather than a divine appointment. I’m grateful that the Lord loves us enough to use us even in the middle of people’s discarded second-hand finds. He certainly is making all things new. 

Have I made you a believer? Do you have a fun thrift store find or story to share?

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

Let These 5 Truths Sink in Today

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God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.
Ephesians 2:8-10 NLT

You might already know these truths, but sometimes the things we are most familiar with or the ones we unknowingly dismiss, are the ones we need to revisit and really let sink in.

Read our passage in Ephesians 2 again and then let God’s beautiful truth saturate your heart:

You are saved by grace!
All you have to do is believe in God. He does the rest!

God’s grace is a gift!
You don’t have to earn God’s love or favor or help. In fact, you can’t! All you can do is receive the gift of His love, forgiveness, and grace.

You are His masterpiece!
God is so delighted with who you are and how He made you.

You are made new in Jesus!
You are not the sum of the mistakes you’ve made. You are the totality of God’s craftsmanship and Christ’s redemption. God calls you a new creation. He sees His beloved daughter every time He looks at you. 

He has good things planned for you to do!
If you feel aimless or insignificant, you can trust that God has a plan and purpose for your life. Ask the Holy Spirit to guide you each day — He’ll show you what to do.

When Your Heart Is Broken and You Can Do Nothing but Pray

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I grew up on the coast.

Foggy mornings giving way to sunny days giving way to foggy nights. There is something breathtaking about standing on the shore in the dark as the beach fog rolls in. You can’t see and your eyes burn with the cold and the crisp air. You learn to see through — through foggy sky and burning eyes. 

I tiptoe through my days now, praying with every breath, praying with every stitch I knit. I watch jays fly overhead and I stand in the chill of night while rain beats down. I take in every glowing star, delighting in each night’s moon, refusing to take anything for granted. Just as I couldn’t see well through the beach fog and the burning eyes, I can’t see straight sometimes when the tears cloud my green eyes. But it’s okay because the tears don’t fall, they sit there as a reminder that there is Something Greater than all of this and I don’t need to see. I don’t. I just need to remember there is Someone Greater.  

I spend a day heartbroken over the darkness — a friend’s mother dies from cancer just a few weeks after they learn it is consuming her; a broken system lets the killer of a loving father and husband off because of a badge, again; precious children shot and killed in school; darkness and turmoil just rage and people can’t hear past the pain and there is hate and hurt and where is hope? As the moon rises gloriously, once again, hope creeps in with phone calls — a dear friend’s beautiful engagement after divorce, and the birth of new life to a friend. I rejoice and I mourn and I wonder how to keep going when things don’t make sense. Yet, it’s the tears and the cloudiness that remind me:

I don’t need to see; I just need to remember there is Something Greater.  

I reach out to one of the wisest voices I know, begging for something, some insight, something to make the heartache lessen. I find truth in her words: “I think in some ways, that’s our job here — to mourn with those who mourn and keep being witnesses to the suffering.”

I witness. I do. I witness the pain, the suffering, the hurt. I witness the darkness while I hold my candle, flame aglow, this little bit of light. Yes, this little bit of light is the Light and I will hold it while you cry and I will cry with you, not letting this Light go out. And together we will walk. We will walk through your darkness and in your pain. We will walk and the Light will shine even when we are consumed. 

My wise friend speaks more to my weary heart. “Maybe this is where we find real humility, Amy, in this heartbroken place, knowing we can do nothing but pray and love?”

I hear the cries, the pain, the anger and I can do nothing, nothing, but pray and love. I want someone who can do something to hear their cries, to hear me. The only Someone who can do anything does hear them, does hear me.

Clouded, teary, burning eyes don’t need to see; we just remember Something Greater hears us. He hears us and He weeps with us. Oh, He weeps. The Light, shining in this darkness, weeping for our pain. And He will wipe our tears. He will bring vision and light once again. A little bit peeks through — life, love, marriage, birth.

He is here in the midst. Pray and love. Pray and love. There is comfort to be found. 

What It’s Like to Be Single on a Sunday

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On a typical Sunday morning, I make my way to the closet to find something to wear that’s comfortable but also relatively stylish. I didn’t come from a church background that required fancy attire or anything, but I do like the idea of getting a little dressed up.  I often sleep a bit longer than I anticipated which means I have less time than anticipated to have breakfast. My dream is that I wake up one Sunday with enough time to make an actual meal and sit down and enjoy it, but about half the time I grab a quick bite that I can eat on the road like a piece of toast. The other 50% of the time, I rely on the basket of free bread in the foyer of my church.

I go to a small Baptist Church on the coastline of New England and it is full of lovely people who deeply care for me. Yet in addition to the Sunday Bread Basket, I can also rely on a heightened awareness of my singleness when I walk into the sanctuary. It’s not that people are cold; in fact, my church is unusually hospitable. Still, I have entered the building alone and I now have to find a place to sit.

It feels silly to be a 35-year-old woman who feels a bit like a junior higher when she looks around the room, wondering where she belongs. Sometimes, I will sit with a retired couple or perhaps a young family. But every week, it fluctuates because I don’t have a built-in person that I can always sit beside.

 There are dozens of ways that you can feel extra single when you walk into a church, and over the years I’ve constructed ways to cope.  For example, I try to find a spot quickly near someone I know so I don’t have to wander and stay in the feeling of loneliness that can sometimes settle when you are looking for an invitation.  More often than not, when someone at our church is about to sit down. This inquiry involves a certain level of vulnerability and the possibility of rejection if the seat is, in fact, taken.

I tell you these things not so that you will feel sorry for me, or other single people, but so that you might consider what is going through our heads even on the best of Sundays. I know that I have friends who are happy to welcome me in, but as a single person, we often have to be the ones to show up to the party, knock on the door, and wait for a reply. 

 Finding a place to sit is only the first step to what can be several challenging circumstances for those who have no partner. 

For example, during the announcements, it’s more likely than not that there will be some sort of special event put on for families or couples. Or perhaps there is an opportunity to join a small group, but we don’t know what demographic we fit into. We aren’t young 20-somethings anymore, nor are we young families. There is not always a ministry for single people. Or consider this: pastors often use stories in their sermons about their experience as a parent or a spouse.  How relatable is that? For much of the congregation, plenty, but for those with no children or spouse, we just have to sort of nod along and try to imagine what it must feel like.

Being single in the local church can feel like a constant exercise in trusting the process. We know that church is the place that we need to be, and we believe that this community is like an actual family. This is a sacred thing for those of us who do not go home to a family. Still, we are sitting in pews and listening to announcements and wondering if our experience matters. Then we are met with this grand finale: what are we going to do after the service?

Do we awkwardly walk away to our cars or do we linger and try to make small talk?  And once all of this is over, what are we going to do for lunch? This question can be daunting at worst and a little disappointing at best, because lunch after church on Sunday would be a prime opportunity to connect with others and when it doesn’t happen, it can feel a bit like salt in a wound. For the other 20 meals of the week, we have to plan out not only our menus but also our company. There is no built-in companion at the dining room table, which can leave many single people feeling like they need to come up with the energy to make plans if they just want to eat a sandwich in the presence of another person.

 Each meal as a single person takes effort, not just in energy, but also in emotion.

This is what I want you to know:  by the time we get to the church service, we are already aware that we are surrounded by community while struggling with loneliness. It’s not always a depressing mess, but it does take effort, energy, and a bit of bravery to show up to big community events.

I wonder what would happen if those who attended church started texting the single congregants and asking them ahead of time to make a plan for lunch after church on a Sunday.  I wonder how many single people would walk into church feeling lighter, knowing that they have an invitation to be with others after the service.

Scripture reminds us in Ephesians 4 that we are all part of the body of Christ, but sometimes we miss out on one another and it actually means that the church is not as strong as it could be. If a member of the body is feeling disconnected, it’s really vital that we make sure a connection is made. Before a single friend has a chance to even process the awkwardness of finding a place to sit on a Sunday, invite them to join you. Before a single friend has a chance to get to their car and go home to a sandwich and no conversation partner, ask them if you can have them over for a meal.

So often, single people say they don’t feel welcome in the church, so I want to give you this antidote: welcome them. 

 If people know we are Christians by our love, this feels like a good place to start.

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

For Anyone Who Thinks She’s Failing

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Many summers ago, according to my to-do list, I was failing.

I had blown so many self-imposed deadlines. Major goals on my list remained unmet. Even small projects around the house were back-burnered. With the kids home, my day was a symphony of constant interruptions, sounding like the clatter of breakfast, the rushing toward music lessons, the whirring of the washing machine.

In an effort to stay sane, I prayed the same prayer every single morning: “God, help me to make choices today that honor Your plans for my life.”

I determined to follow God’s agenda rather than trying to convince Him to help me carry out mine. This is no small task for a woman with a rather robust inner control freak. There are times when I secretly hope God will empower me to plow through my to-do list rather than equip me for His.

But God is totally on to me. The old saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans,” summed up my summer. Sure, there were moments of terrific productivity. But often, my daily prayer led me miles away from the office.

As it turns out, that summer was exactly what my agenda-driven heart needed. Which is to say, my soul needed a place to breathe. My soul needed days of cute kittens, impromptu picnics with the girls, kayak rides, and petunias — alongside satisfying days of productivity.

I can’t simply walk away from my work, of course. But I have surrendered my agenda to the God of The Calendar. I choose to be sustained by the belief that God will help me complete the work He has called me to do . . . in His time.

Maybe you’ve been like me — caught between your grand plans and your actual life. Maybe you’ve been feeling a little panicky that what you intended to do, simply hasn’t gotten done. Maybe what we all really need right now is to remember that God has this all under control. We get to simply pray, “God, help me to make choices today that honor Your plans for my life.” Amen!

This devotion was written by Jennifer Dukes Lee as appears in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle.

Our honesty + God’s truth is often the intersection of new strength!

This is what you’ll find in the pages of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle. This beautiful devotional journal brings you relatable stories like Jennifer’s, along with life-line Scriptures, space to journal your prayers or takeaways, and a daily spot to record how God is meeting you with His strength. (And He will!) You can get a copy at DaySpring, Amazon, or wherever books are sold.

Earlier this summer, we took part in a Strength in Any Struggle book club with thousands of women who are part of the Mary & Martha team and DaySpring family! We’ve pulled a dozen live videos from our (in)courage writers and are now making them available for YOU!

Check out this NEW YouTube playlist for more personal stories, biblical teaching, practical application, and soul encouragement for whatever struggle you face today.

And share this post with a friend who could use some extra support too! We’re in this together.

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

For the One Feeling a Little Tired Today

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Perhaps you’re having a day when you feel a little tired, when you’re struggling with aches in your bones or your heart. “What happened?” you might ask yourself, “I thought I was doing well.” And you are.

Things like growth, healing, and progress never happen as one continual climb. No, they come like waves. Victory, then struggle. Strength, then weariness. Success, then a setback. This isn’t a sign that you are falling behind. This is simply the natural rhythm of a human body and soul.

Jesus starts His ministry with a miracle at a wedding. He speaks powerfully and gains disciples. He has a well-known conversation with Nicodemus. Then He leaves town and we’re told this: “Jesus, tired from the long walk, sat wearily beside the well about noontime” (John 4:6 NLT). You may be in a season of a long walk too.

A long walk of waiting for answers.

A long walk of healing.

A long walk of coming alongside someone you love.

A long walk of faithfulness in a hard situation.

A long walk of victory and seeing God do powerful things in your life.

If you’re tired and you need to sit down wearily, it isn’t a failure. It isn’t weakness. It isn’t proof that you can’t keep up.

If you’re tired and you need to sit down wearily, you’re following the example of a Savior who knows what it’s like to be human.

It’s at this well where Jesus sits down that He meets a Samaritan woman and has a transformational conversation with her. I love this because it shows us, God worked through Jesus when He was tired and weary.

Jesus needing to slow down and rest didn’t pause God’s plan for His life. Instead, it opened up a different kind of opportunity for God to work.

It’s easy to believe God can only use us when we’re at our best, strongest, and fastest. But God’s purposes don’t require a certain level of energy or a pace we must maintain. He can work in our slowest moments and our swiftest, in the times when we’re moving forward and when we can’t take one more step. He used Jesus when He turned water into wine at a wedding and when He sat down wearily by a well.

Why is this possible? Because the work of God doesn’t depend on us. “Jesus told them, ‘This is the only work God wants from you: Believe in the one he has sent’” (John 6:29 NLT).

Sometimes the hardest part of believing is trusting we’re loved in every moment.

You’re loved when you’re working.

You’re loved when you’re resting.

You’re loved when you’re full of energy.

You’re loved when you’re exhausted.

You’re loved when you’re ministering.

You’re loved when you’re curling up to take a nap.

You never have to be afraid that you’re letting God down by being human. Your loving God is compassionate toward your tiredness. Your faithful God is able to use even your weakest moments to show His strength. Your limitless God isn’t held back by your limitations.

Feeling tired doesn’t mean you’re failing; it means you’re trying hard. You only grow weary when you’ve put forth effort of some kind — emotional, mental, physical, professional, spiritual (maybe all of the above).

Who have you loved, although imperfectly?

What worthy cause have you fought for, even if victory isn’t sure yet?

How have you pursued a goal, chased a dream, nurtured your own healing?

When you’re tired, it can feel like the right thing to do is push harder. Spur on your soul like a stubborn horse. Add another shot to your coffee, stay up an hour later, lengthen your to-do list, shorten your patience with yourself.

But what if the invitation of Jesus, who described His heart as gentle and lowly, is to do the opposite? The One who spoke the world into being has no trouble with completing tasks, no concern that you won’t pull your weight. He even carried a cross so your burden would not be heavy but light.

Honor your tiredness the way you would a warrior. Say to it, “You are proof that much good has been done, much love has been shared, much life has been lived.” Welcome it the way you would a soldier returning from war. Feed it, let it sleep, wrap a blanket around its shoulders.

Trust that your tiredness is a visitor — it’s not here to stay. Give it space to be with you for a bit, and it will go on its way. You don’t have to ignore it, don’t need to evict it, just offer it some compassion and perhaps a cup of tea, some sacred silence, or an evening on the couch watching TV.

When you wake in the morning, it may be gone, having slipped away somewhere in the night. If it’s still there, that’s alright.

You’re a human being with bones and a soul, nerves and elbows, a heart that beats almost one hundred thousand times a day. Tiredness will sometimes be your companion. This isn’t a flaw; it’s simply a fact — one you share with all the other billions of people on this planet and a perfect Savior who once napped on a boat in a storm.

You are tired today.
You are fully loved.
You are doing well.
All of these can be true at the same time.

Listen to today’s devotion on the player below or on your fave podcast app!

Answer This: Is Jesus Truly Enough?

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Following Jesus is not easy. Taking up my cross, sacrificing, and surrendering is not what I had in mind for my summer plans. I feel broken, bruised, battered, and, quite honestly, at times, even defeated.

This season, I’ve cried hard. You know, the kind of crying where snot streams down your face, racing the tears that won’t stop? That kind.

As a follower of Jesus, it sometimes feels like I’m constantly being hit from all sides. I know I’m supposed to trust God in the process, but right now, the process hurts more than the progress. What do we do when the price of suffering feels greater than the outcome?

Every day, I strive to keep it together so that no one else is disheartened by my struggles. I am seen as a leader, a preacher, and a disciple-maker. Most importantly, I am a child of God. However, I often feel depleted, having given all that I have. 

At times, I find myself losing the will to keep the faith and wanting to give up, believing that trusting in myself is better than trusting God. Yet, amid this reality, Jesus has met me. He continues to pursue me, showering me with His love. His love pursues me even when I fail to notice because I have found temporary solace in what’s been comfortable: survival rather than choosing to live in freedom.

My struggles this season have been my thoughts, attitudes, and stubbornness. I know God tells me to cast my cares on Him because He cares for me, but often, doubt takes root and I wonder if He really cares. My experiences seem to suggest otherwise — my growing burdens and long-suffering prayers a seemingly clear indication of God’s lack of concern. And that’s where I’ve gone astray. Perhaps you have, too. 

I have often traded His goodness for my own, making it about what makes me feel good. I placed my emotions on the throne instead of allowing God to be Lord and giving Him lordship over my emotions. I gave my feelings permission to dictate my posture, thus replacing God in the equation.

Today, God’s invitation to me and to you is a wholehearted surrender. Like a robber caught red-handed, arms flailing to the sky, finally giving up, we too have the opportunity to confess that we’re a wild mess and accept that Jesus is enough; the cross is enough. 

We must reach the end of ourselves, where we can wholeheartedly proclaim, “You can have all this world, but give me Jesus.”

I’ve been grappling with hard questions, “Is Jesus truly enough? Would He be enough if I never wrote that book, spoke on another platform, or saw another dream fulfilled?” 

I may not know the specifics of your life or the idols you have chosen, but one thing is sure: we all have our own set of them. Don’t misunderstand me. The Lord cares for you, including your dreams, goals, and desires — after all, He gave them to you. But He also cares for your soul. Jesus must be above all else in our lives. Nothing in this world can fill the void that was only meant to be filled by Him.

Take a moment to reflect on this crucial question: Is Jesus truly enough for you? 

If you answer no, may I offer you the gift the Lord has often offered me this season? Repentance. This is an opportunity to surrender, confess, and rid yourself of the idols that you’ve been relying on. Recognize that victory comes through Him. Proclaim that Jesus is and will forever be enough; nothing else will do.

While there is still a cross to carry and a call to be a living sacrifice and die to self, I’ve learned that His grace is sufficient for me, as it is for you, too. Even with tears streaming down your face and every part of you wanting to give up, trusting the process means that even though we may not understand the plan, we trust the One leading. He has never failed and never will, and although we may feel broken, bruised, and battered, through Jesus we are certainly never defeated.

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast app!

A Friend of Sinners

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Our family lake day didn’t start quite as I planned. The weather was perfect: Sunshine and 90 degrees, nice and hot like a lake day is meant to be. But then right when we parked, we realized we left our canopy tent at home, our only means of shade on a blistering day. 

I closed my eyes, took a breath.

Just let it go, Michele.

“No problem, babe,” I told my husband. “We’ll adjust.” So he drove to another spot where we found a lone cottonwood tree on a long stretch of beach and set up our day camp. It was perfect, even better than a tent, to be honest. But then, while unpacking, we discovered we also left some of our water gear at home. And then the pump for the inflatable kayak and ski tube didn’t work.  

Breathe, Michele. Not a big deal. We can still have fun. 

Again, we improvised and made the best of it. It was still going to be a good day. 

Soon, my husband and kids set out to do some boating. And I was left behind with nothing but a beach chair, ice-cold sparkling water, and a great book. After more than two hours of prep and chaos, everything had come together perfectly. 

I closed my eyes and exhaled, savoring the peace and quiet. It was worth all the hassle and headache for this moment. 

However (you knew it was coming), not more than 30 minutes later I noticed a young couple walking in my direction.

“Hi!” the young man said, as he dropped their blankets, cooler, and blow-up couch (I kid you not) eight feet from where I sat with my book and sparkling water. 

My friends, I’d love to tell you that I matched his friendliness with equal enthusiasm. But disappointment is a powerful force. And in a hot second, my many years of Bible study and church attendance were swallowed up by acute irritation at the rude interruption. I fell short of outright hostility but my posture toward this young man and his girlfriend was, at best, FROSTY. Brrr. Even more so when he lit his pipe and started smoking (not tobacco), then turned on his music so he could jam on the beach. 

“Do you have a music preference?” he asked with a smile. “I don’t want to completely interrupt your quiet afternoon.” 

Too late, I muttered under my breath. A small voice somewhere in the recesses of my mind tried to keep me Christian with words like, “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32 NIV). But all I could see was how my perfect day’s plans were going up in pipe smoke and reggae.

I wish I could tell you that I immediately felt the conviction of the Holy Spirit and did an about-face with my attitude. I did not. Nor did I feel remorse when the couple packed up their things and left. It wasn’t until the following day when I pulled out my Bible to spend time with Jesus that His words finally worked conviction in my heart:

“The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard,
a friend of tax collectors and sinners.'”
Matthew 11:19 NIV

A friend of tax collectors and sinners.

Tax collectors were seen as traitors, cheats, and opportunists who used others for personal gain. They were some of the worst of humanity, despicable, and ostracized. Far worse than an intrusive young couple who wanted to share my shade on a public beach.

And yet, those who were ostracized by people like you and me were welcomed by Jesus. In fact, they drew near to Him, coming closer and closer like moths to a light. There was something about Jesus that made the lonely feel like they’d come home, even if they didn’t have their life together.

Alas, the church-y people around Jesus couldn’t see past their irritation:

“Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.'”
Luke 15:1-2 NIV

In his book Gentle and Lowely, Dan Ortland says it this way: “Though the crowds call him the friend of sinners as an indictment, the label is one of unspeakable comfort for those who know themselves to be sinners. That Jesus is friend to sinners is only contemptible to those who feel themselves not to be in that category.”

God forgive me, I was the worst sort of Pharisee last week on the lake. Rather than open my arms, I folded them, justifying my judgments every step of the way. I have much yet to learn about the heart of the Father toward His children.

How about you? Who do you ostracize or avoid because of how they don’t fit into your perfect plan? Don’t worry, I’m not going to judge you. I have my hands full focusing on my own frosty heart. But I will leave you with something to consider, and I will do the same:

Jesus doesn’t simply tolerate interruptions and the people who make them. He welcomes them. He seeks them out. He finds the people most unwanted and out of place, and rather than wait for them to make a fuss, He pulls out a chair and offers them a seat. Why? Because they aren’t an interruption to His plan — they are His plan.

So am I. And so are you. Tax collectors and sinners, one and all.

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

A Reason to Be Truly Glad

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“So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you must endure many trials for a little while. These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold — though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world.

You love him even though you have never seen him. Though you do not see him now, you trust him; and you rejoice with a glorious, inexpressible joy. The reward for trusting him will be the salvation of your souls.”
1 Peter 1:6-9 NLT

It’s easy to feel like the trials we are facing today will always be this way. It’s easy to believe that no good could possibly come from the hard, the unjust, or the pain in our lives. But Scripture reminds us of this:

There is purpose in the trials we face.

Are brokenness and betrayal, cancer and car accidents from God? Of course not! These are the consequences of living in a fallen world. But the impact of sin and suffering doesn’t have the final say! (Pause and praise God for that!)

Because God is faithful to work through everything for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28), He uses the very things we’d rather avoid to strengthen our faith, invite us to trust Him, and ultimately give us greater joy in Jesus.

“So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you must endure many trials for a little while.”

God Isn’t Distant. Here’s How to See His Glory Right Here and Now

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It takes five miles of walking to wear me out, but I’m short on time and steps. So, I do what any logical person who cracked an ankle on the sharp edge of a counter and now wears Chaco sandals to mask the injury — I run.

As my breathing settles into a rhythm, I remember running on the dirt road leading to my grandparents’ ranch. Then, seven-year-old me wasn’t tired. My parents noticed . . . told me I could be a distance runner. 

Except I never was.

I rarely ran, even when I could, because I never gave myself the chance to love it. 

The next morning, I take a run and test my ankle on the one lane road with tall trees and enfolding peace. I run past my usual turnaround, and inhale honeysuckle and woods as I survey all that beautiful Daniel Boone land, later named Kentucky. I turn off the song playing on repeat and let my earbuds amplify the pound of my feet, the pulse of my heartbeat. 

It’s a different kind of listening, a stilling more than a leaning in. I surrender to it, scoop up wide open air and rustling leaves and the cheerful chirrup of birds. I have no expectation, no question scraping my insides, none of tomorrow’s to-dos. Just one lane of pavement and white lines stretching out of sight. 

A week goes by and I run again, this time so I’m facing the sun before it rises. I know I’ll pay for it with a swollen ankle, but I so desperately want to catch the sunrise, like I did that one time on Hilton Head Island. I want to be in awe, as colors rise and spread fragrant across the sky. I want to taste the wonder, touch God’s nearness.

In her book One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp wrote about chasing the moon and ocean waves lifting, lulling, cresting. I recall Ann’s words as Rick Pino’s song, “Your Love Is Like an Ocean,” runs through my head, and it makes me want to feel alive and chase the wonder with that same kind of lovestruck abandon.

I’d bet you do too. 

Because . . . busy is a burden we weren’t meant to hold. We were made for more than monotony and boredom and settling. God isn’t distant, dry, or predictable — He’s adventure and searing holiness and the whisper to taste, see, and delight is in His goodness (Psalm 34:8).

Sometimes, that means pausing . . . turning off the music, watching the sun rise, and then stooping to photograph it through the tall grass at the edge of the road. Other times, it means running towards it. Breaking a sweat, gulping lungfuls of air, willing yourself to keep going. 

I’ve been content to live too much of my life numb. I keep a tight rein on my emotions, pretend I don’t care when, in fact, I do have preferences and things that make me ache. I’ve told myself God’s glorious presence is for fleeting moments — only sneak peeks of what heaven will be like, not for every day enjoyment.

Out here, however, the ordinary and eternal intermingle, and my heart sings this truth: God is all around me. Longing thins the distance my apathy constructs, opens my eyes to see that glory saturates the scene before me.  

It’s me, not Him who forgets to pursue. Me who stops responding to His standing invitation to be found.

You and I don’t have to wait for the moon or the sunrise or the roar of the ocean. We sell ourselves short of the deep joy of knowing God unless we chase after Him, give ourselves permission to bow low in awe and feel our way through ache and hope.

I’m stilling running — but now I slow my pace because my phone tells me it’s sunrise time. It’s just soft yellow, barely bold or bright yet . . . but it’s glory peeping in, brimming over onto a waiting world.

I’m not disappointed. God is no less glorious in this mundane moment — and I’m here for it. 

We All Need a Soft Place to Land

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Two of my best friends and I got together for dinner, shopping, and girl time on a recent Friday night, like we’ve done a million times before. These infrequent but essential outings allow us to catch up and sometimes blow off steam since we’ve created a safe space to vent.

We raised our families together, but over the past two springs, the final two kids graduated from high school. In the past, we discussed pregnancy woes, potty training, and survival tips for parents of teens. Now we talk about parenting our adult children, traveling without them, and goals for our empty nest years (one of us is already there; for two of us, it’s on the horizon).

We began our evening on a lawn filled with folks who’d come for an outdoor concert from a ’70s and ’80s cover band, then we wandered into a clothing store so one of us could pick out a dress for an upcoming event. Over dinner, our conversations went deep, in that way unique to friendships with the firmest foundations. Eventually, we returned to a bench on the lawn with cake, ice cream, and clear plastic cups of Prosecco.

Two of us paid extra attention to the third that night. After the tragic death of her husband this spring, we listened when she needed to talk and offered advice when she needed to think things through. We planned a fun weekend trip during her birthday month this fall. We laughed and dried our tears, sometimes simultaneously.

In a moment of clarity, I recognized these friends will likely carry me through the same or something similar someday.

Hard things await us all. Expecting them doesn’t always make it easier. Often, we’re blindsided. My friends talked me through a panicked call from one of my children as we sat on the lawn that night and I’m thankful they were there.

I read a lot of craft articles about writing, but when I came across one recently on how to write characters’ traumatic experiences when you’ve experienced none yourself, I skipped it. Unfortunately, I can’t relate to a trauma-free life. Fortunately, however, I can use what I’ve learned to become a better—and more compassionate—writer, friend, and human being.

Someone half my age told me that the older she gets, the less patience she has with other people, but I’ve found the opposite to be true. The more times life punches me in the gut or brings me to my knees, the more sympathy I have for the human condition.

Do I always understand what the people around me are going through? No, and neither do you. The distracted driver in front of you may be reeling from a phone call from her husband or her doctor or her child that just upended her life.

The older woman staring into space and blocking the bananas in the grocery store might be a dear lady from my church whose husband just passed away in their sixtieth year of marriage. I’m sure she hasn’t shopped alone in decades.

The friend who says she’s fine when her face tells a different story may need a quiet moment with you, a gentle question, and a listening ear.

Your cranky teen might be dealing with more than hormones.

Can you remember a time you maintained a normal facade while falling apart on the inside? I can.

We’re instructed to “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2 NKJV). When we choose kindness as our first response instead of our last, we make the world a more gracious place and provide the people around us with a soft place to land.

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast player. Just search “(in)courage podcast”!

I Was Not Alone and Neither Are You

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There have been a handful of times in my life when I felt completely alone. Recently, I experienced one of those times. My husband, Darian, and I found ourselves in a valley of decisions that I did not want to be in. A few years ago we purchased a property in a cute, vacation destination area. It needed a great deal of work, but we were there for it. We affectionately referred to it as Big View Lodge. We thought it was the perfect place for our growing family to gather a few times a year to holiday together. We also knew we’d have to rent it out some to make it work.

We had several family gatherings there and made incredible memories. We cooked and shared meals, laid out in hammocks, had bonfires, played games, drank coffee, watched movies, laughed, and even cried together in this home. On occasion, we brought friends with us and even had a women’s ministry retreat there. I could imagine sharing this home with my friends and family for generations. 

But instead of sharing our lodge with people we love for decades to come, we sold it.

Through a series of unfortunate events and misguided information, we were no longer able to rent out the lodge. (That twisted road was full of prayer, heart checks, and forgiveness.) But I did not want to sell the house. I had become emotionally attached to the dream of it being used to bless our family and others. Yet I don’t usually get attached to things. I changed homes eight times before I graduated high school. I’ve changed homes eight times since. Additionally, Darian and I have flipped several houses in our marriage. I’ve never been attached to any of them.

Through some soul searching, I realized it wasn’t the house in particular I was attached to. It was the idea of who we could share it with, the dream of my kids and grandkids making memories there, and the reality that I wasn’t getting a choice about whether to sell it or not. I can sell a home easily when it’s my choice, but this wasn’t.

I cried out to the Lord to do a miracle. I was hoping for the happy ending that arrives in every Christmas movie where the family farm or lodge is in jeopardy.  I just knew the Lord was going to come through for me. He did come through — just not in the way I expected Him to. 

I had prayed, fasted, worshiped, thanked the Lord, and even did a Jericho march. Yet, the day came when I had to sign the papers over to someone else. It was so discouraging. The week leading up to selling the lodge I felt a little like King David when he was praying for his child to live (2 Samuel 12). I know this may seem dramatic and normally I’m even not a dramatic person. I simply know that the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy and that Jesus came to give life to the full (John 10:10).

This felt like something was being stolen. It felt like the thief had won. 

On our way into town to sign the papers over to the new owners I had a conversation with the Lord. I told Him, “Father, I feel so alone.” I said that to Him two or three times. Then I finally heard softly, sweetly, and sternly, “That is not truth. You are not alone. Think about what things are true.“

I immediately knew what the Lord was saying. He was telling me His character has never been, nor will it ever be, to leave me or forsake me. 

Right then and there I repented. I knew the Lord was right. I began to say to myself, “You will never leave me nor forsake me (Deuteronomy 31:6). You, Lord, are for me, and if you are for me, who could be against me (Romans 8:31)? You are my ever-present help in time of need” (Psalm 46:1). I had to change the way I was thinking. Thinking I was alone, made me feel alone.

I was never alone in this scenario or any other. As soon as I reminded myself what the Word of God says, it changed how I felt. My emotions adjusted to the Word of God.

Just like I was not alone, you are not alone. Whatever you’re going through, whatever the obstacle is, God has not left you. He is there. He is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). We have to take our thoughts captive (2 Corinthians 10:5). It’s easy to get caught up in the emotions of something hard, hurtful, and even unfair. We can throw ourselves a pity party and think we’re all alone. It reminds me of when the disciples were all in the boat with Jesus when the storm came. They were all freaking out and afraid. They woke Jesus up and asked Him if He even cared that they were about to die. 

I always thought it was ridiculous of them to accuse Jesus of not caring. However, there have been many times I’ve done the same thing. I may not have said it exactly like they did, but I meant it.

We see that Jesus does care. He ended up calming the storm for them. Jesus calmed the storm inside of me and He’ll calm the storm for you too.

If you’re thinking today, that you’re alone or the Lord does not care, listen. You will hear Him say to you what He said to me, “That is not truth. You are not alone. Think about what things are true.” Then find the truth in God’s Word and think and say those things.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they would have life, and have it to the full.”
John 10:10 NIV

Though we sold our lodge, the Lord turned it around for our good. He truly does give us life to the full.

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

Giving up Good for God’s Best

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As I held the rose in my hand, the leader of the evening’s artistic presentation at the women’s conference asked our crowd to ponder the question: What do you need to lay down at Jesus’s feet?

We were invited to lay down situations that we’d been discouraged about, anything that consumed our prayers, or unfulfilled longings that we were losing hope of ever coming to fruition.  

I fingered the edges of my fabric rose and merged into the line with the rest of the women moving toward the front. A few steps remained, and I asked, “God, what are You inviting me to lay down and give to You?”

Do you ever ask God a question but not really expect Him to answer? Sometimes, we don’t hear anything and assume that God isn’t listening or doesn’t care. Other times, we don’t ask because we fear God’s answer, namely that He won’t give us what we want.   

Yet instantly when I asked, a crystal-clear whisper spoke to my heart: I want you to lay down your desire for marriage.

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I hurried to blink them away. I was the speaker for the event the next day, and this didn’t seem like a good time to melt into a pile of tears. This wasn’t the answer I expected, nor was it the answer I wanted. Yet, the wooden cross stood before me, and I believed that answer was from God. I whispered a shaky “okay” and laid my dream before God.

I compartmentalized that moment for the next two days behind many smiles and an earnestness to serve the women God brought me to speak to at the event. When I returned home, I dropped my bags and followed the old saying: “Take to my bed.”

I questioned God: Is this really what You’re asking me to lay down before You?

My spirit was weighed down by sadness, even though I was glad I’d obeyed. After going through a divorce five years ago, I’d been praying for God-honoring, lasting love. Dating as a believer had been challenging, but I committed to honoring God even if I did live out my remaining years as a single Christian woman. I never expected to sense that God would ask me to lay my dream down. 

Sitting in my bed, I remembered Abraham traveling with his son Isaac to Mount Moriah. After waiting many many years for a son, which God miraculously provided, God asked Abraham to sacrifice that same son. I’ve always wondered what kind of conversation Abraham had with his wife, Sarah, about that watershed day… For years, my mama heart struggled with how Abraham could build an altar, bind his son, and lay him across the wood. One day, I discovered the answer in Hebrews 11:19:

“Abraham reasoned that if Isaac died, God would be able to bring him back to life again. And in a sense, Abraham did receive his son back from the dead.”
Hebrews 11:19 NLT

Abraham’s story was an Old Testament foreshadowing of God allowing His Son to be sacrificed. But, it also serves as an example of what we may experience in our Christian life. There will be times in our journey with God when He asks us to let go of a dream, a way of life, or a pursuit because He has a different plan or path for us. Yet we can hold onto the hope and the promise that God never asks us to give up more than He is willing to give us.  

I recently wrote a book on spiritual practices, and I define sacrifice as a spiritual practice in which we give up for God’s holy good. Sometimes, He asks us to give up or lay down what we consider good, like a career, a particular house, a relationship, or a certain number of kids, because His plan is to give us something better.

Giving up for God’s holy good is a journey of believing the best about God’s love and care for us. The writer of Hebrews notes that Jesus offered Himself as a sacrifice for the joy of fulfilling His purpose in God’s eternal plan (Hebrews 12:2). Jesus gave up so much for God’s holy good, and we benefit from that goodness each day.

Perhaps you’ve sensed that God is nudging you to give up something for His holy good. You have permission to grieve in the giving up. I also encourage you to hold onto the reassurance that God will fill that space in His time with His goodness just for you.

It’s been almost two months since I laid down my dream. After a few weeks of sadness, I can see where that decision has been a blessing in this season. There are many unique opportunities in this season of life, and it’s helpful to have absolute flexibility as a single woman without the concern of neglecting a relationship. Yes, I still carry the ache of loneliness and uncertainty, but I enjoy the blessing of knowing that I’ve followed God and the promise of His goodness in whatever form it comes in my life.

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

What’s in Your Hand?

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Look! The cry of the people of Israel has reached me, and I have seen how harshly the Egyptians abuse them. Now go, for I am sending you to Pharaoh. You must lead my people Israel out of Egypt.”

But Moses protested to God, “Who am I to appear before Pharaoh? Who am I to lead the people of Israel out of Egypt?”

God answered, “I will be with you. And this is your sign that I am the one who has sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God at this very mountain.”

But Moses protested, “If I go to the people of Israel and tell them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ they will ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what should I tell them?”

God replied to Moses, “I am who I am. Say this to the people of Israel: I am has sent me to you.”
Exodus 3:9-14 NLT

Moses repeatedly responded to God’s call with a response that resembled, “Please don’t pick me. You’ve overestimated who I am.” Moses was aware of the abuse his people, the Israelites, had endured. He deeply feared Pharoah and didn’t want to have to be the one to face him, especially with so many lives hanging in the balance. His insecurity was drowning out his ability to hear what God was really saying — “Moses, I Am!” In other words, God was fully aware that Moses felt too small, too weak, and too incapable to be the man for this job; however, Moses’s life is a wonderful example of a powerful truth — God can use anyone to accomplish His will. His power is made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Did you know that Moses classified himself as being “slow of speech and tongue”? The very weakness that was a root of insecurity for him became the thing God wanted to use to redeem His people. God also told Moses that his brother Aaron, who was a good speaker, could accompany him and help him when he felt afraid. This story reminds us that God not only uses our weaknesses to glorify His name, but that He also provides practical help along the way.

Wherever God is calling you, and whatever He is asking of you, let this story bring you comfort. You are equipped for the role. He is aware of your struggles. And His power is made perfect in your weakness.

Get Renewed in Prayer

Hey Jesus,

Thank You for always listening to me when I pray. When I talk to You, I feel myself relaxing as I remember that You are already near. Will You help me remember this story of Moses as I respond to Your voice and discern what’s next? Remind me that my weaknesses don’t scare You, for that’s precisely what You want to use to further Your Kingdom. Thank You for not getting frustrated with me when I reiterate my worry or tell You why I’m afraid; You already know what’s on my heart and mind.

Thank You for providing people in my life who are strong where I am weak. Humble my spirit so that I can recognize and receive Your provision in these places. When there is someone around me who I can help encourage, strengthen, or support, show me.

Like Moses, sometimes my insecurities speak so loudly that I struggle to hear Your voice above them. Help me remember that You are the Great I Am. When I focus on You, I regain my footing and can respond in faith.

In Jesus’s name, Amen.

—

We often think our lives should look a certain way to others, and we have the same idea about God. We try to bring only our best and hide the rest, a process that can lead to exhaustion, burnout, and disillusionment. But God hasn’t asked for our best; He’s asked for our everything.

In her new interactive Devotional Guide, Unfiltered: Living Raw, Real, & Redeemed by Jesus, author Cleere Cherry Reaves encourages us to dispense with pretense and meet with the God who sees all, knows all, and loves us anyway, to the end of our days and forevermore. Through Scripture, reflective devotions, processing questions, quizzes, and more, Cleere helps you get to the heart of the matter — the unfiltered self that Christ desires to connect with.

Order your copy today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN a copy*!

Then join Becky Keife this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Cleere about this new devotional guide. Don’t miss it!

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 7/21/24 at 11:59 pm central.

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast player!

How to Hover Over Your Chaos

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I saw the notification for a missed call from my brother. No voice mail, no follow-up text. My heart dropped. Something terrible must have happened.

Panicked, I called him back right away. He picked up laughing. 

“Sorry!” he said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I didn’t even mean to call!”

“But,” he added, “it happened at the most chaotic moment of my morning, so I figured you would’ve been the perfect person anyway.”

We laughed long and hard. I peeled my anxiety off the ceiling. He shared his morning chaos, well known to working parents: a sick kid, a closed daycare, a last-minute scramble for back-up. 

I told him I’d missed his call because I was doing a mad-dash clean-up of our messy house. Our beloved summer babysitter was on her way over, and even though she knew our chaos, the current state of affairs was too much, even for our nearest and dearest.

“See, I told you,” he laughed again. “You know chaos better than anyone!”

After we got off the phone, I kept thinking about his words, that I’d be the perfect person to call in chaos.

Truth is, he’s right in more ways than one. As a working mother of five kids, I live amid chaos 24/7. Sometimes it overwhelms me, but over the years I have built up muscles I didn’t know I had. Muscles that help me juggle seven people’s schedules, hunger, needs, and joys; keep a house sorta running for all of us to survive; and tend to my body, heart, and soul while caring for those I’m called to love.

But in a deeper way, I’ve become well-acquainted with other chaos I never wanted. 

Grief. Illness. Suffering. Death.

I keep praying for peace and tranquility in my life. But that doesn’t seem to be what God sends. God keeps asking me to build up my strength and capacity for chaos — to become someone who can sit with others in their hard places, and dig deep into solidarity and compassion.

One of my favorite Scripture passages (as someone who keeps finding herself in chaos) comes from the Bible’s first words: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters” (Genesis 1:1-2 NIV).

Another translation says “The earth was complete chaos, and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters” (Genesis 1:2 NRSVUE). First, there was darkness and chaos, unnerving and empty. But then God’s Spirit moved, and the Word was spoken: Let there be light.

I’ve long loved the image of the Spirit hovering over the waters, gentle as a bird or rushing as a breeze, as God creates for the first time out of chaos. 

Because more often than not, my own life feels chaotic. In small ways — what are we having for dinner, where is that kid’s permission slip, did anyone change the laundry, when was that bill due, is someone getting sick upstairs? — and in big ways. 

Why did I get cancer? 

Why couldn’t our children survive? 

How does the world keep falling apart, worse and worse every day?

Am I doing what I’m supposed to be doing amid all this mess?

Over the years, as I’ve spent much time in chaos, reflecting on chaos, I’ve come to realize how much the Genesis creation story teaches us about the conflicts and challenges we encounter in our own lives. 

First, chaos is only — and always — the start of the story. Morning sickness, messy first drafts, and even the Monday school rush have taught me that beginnings can be difficult. But we can’t lose heart when we encounter chaos. God might be drawing near in ways we can’t see, hovering close to our murky waters. Every masterpiece starts with a sketch, and even chaos can be the first step to something beautiful coming next.

Second, we can’t forget to breathe. The word for Spirit in Hebrew is ruah, which can be translated as wind, breath, or spirit. When I get tense, anxious, or fearful in the face of chaos, I often hold my breath and forget how much it helps to slow down and breathe deeply. As small as it sounds, breathing reminds me of the presence of God’s Holy Spirit within me, breathed into my lungs by God at the beginning of my life. When I reconnect with the Spirit that moved like a mighty wind at the dawn of creation, I remember that I have never been left alone to face the chaos on my own. 

Finally, in a strange way, chaos can remind us that God is near — a sign that the Spirit is ready to create and recreate among us.

God is already here. When chaos comes — and it will come — we don’t have to get entangled or entrapped within it; we just need to hover over it. Because the truth is, we can’t complete the creative, restorative, or redemptive work of God. All we can do is trust that the Spirit is present.

God is always hovering close, whenever and wherever we need. 

Listen to today’s devotion at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.