You Are in the Potter’s Good Hands

You Are in the Potter’s Good Hands

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A few months ago, I invited my friend to join me for a pottery class at a new local studio for her birthday present. We both love to try new things and were intrigued by the experience of using a potter’s wheel to create something out of clay.

When we arrived at the class, the teacher gave us step-by-step instructions. We each sat down behind a wheel while she passed out a ball of clay to each student. Our first task was to slam the clay down in the center of the wheel to get it to stick. Then we were to wet a small sponge and soak the clay.

Our teacher encouraged us to gently nudge the pedal to get the wheel spinning. With wet hands, we learned to center and cone the clay. Coning helps to mix the clay and work out inconsistencies or air bubbles before shaping it. We used our fingers to lift the clay into the cone shape and then our palms to push it down again.

Once the cone was centered well, the teacher showed us how to smooth and shape the clay into a flat disk. She said to make it look like a mini flan. (She had me at flan. Hello, one of my favorite desserts!)

The process of forming clay on the wheel was longer and harder than it looked.

The trick was to keep adding water to keep the clay supple and moldable. We pressed, pulled, and pinched until that ball of clay eventually became a bowl or vase.

Metaphors for life abound in the pottery studio.

A few times, the teacher came over, stuck her hands in front of me, and started to work with my clay. At first, I wanted to take control of the clay myself. I wanted to learn by doing it myself. But soon I realized the value of surrendering to her expertise. I learned a lot from watching my teacher and her techniques.

The first surprising lesson was that it requires lots of water to make a clay pot on a wheel. Clay is naturally hard and heavy, but water makes it workable.

Our souls are much the same. We need consistent hydration. We need the living water that only Jesus offers. On our own we are heavy, brittle; we are dust. With Jesus’s living water, we are malleable clay. The very same water that He offered the Samaritan woman at the well has the power to transform us from the inside out (John 4:13-14 NLT). He is our Thirst-Quencher when we are parched, our Teacher when we lack technique, our Shepherd when we need a gentle guide.

In the pottery studio, I also learned that pushing on the pedal to speed up the wheel does not make the work go faster. I had to be slow, deliberate, and intentional if I wanted to make a beautiful bowl.

It turns out that in pottery-making, as in life, you have to trust the process. It’s rare that someone would sit down at a pottery wheel and make something perfect on the first try. Oftentimes the clay needs to be reworked, reshaped, and reimagined.

This brings to mind the story where God sends the prophet Jeremiah to the potter’s house to show him something important He wants to relay to the people:

Go down to the potter’s shop, and I will speak to you there. So I did as he told me and found the potter working at his wheel. But the jar he was making did not turn out as he had hoped, so he crushed it into a lump of clay again and started over. Then the Lord gave me this message: “O Israel, can I not do to you as this potter has done to his clay? As the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand.”
Jeremiah 18: 2-6 (NLT)

God uses this visual to remind the people that He is the Master Potter, molding them like clay. He calls them back to repentance and rest in Him.

The prophet Isaiah uses a similar metaphor of clay and Creator:

“What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator.
Does a clay pot argue with its maker?
Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying,
‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’
Isaiah 45:9 (NLT)

These verses remind us that the Potter can do whatever He wants with the clay. He can push out our inconsistencies, transform our too-jagged edges, and smooth us to symmetry. It might feel uncomfortable or too long in the waiting, but we are not to resist His design work. We are to submit to His molding and making, and behold His creative process embodied in us. 

After the class, our teacher fired our creations in the kiln — a hotter-than-hot oven — to set them. When it was done, I traced my finger along the smooth edges of my bluish-teal bowl. I held it with a quiet sense of pride because it wasn’t fancy, but it was my creation.

That little bowl sits on my bathroom counter now, holding some of my favorite jewelry pieces. It’s a sweet reminder that God is the Potter, and we are but dust mixed with water in His heart-shaped hands.

This devotion originally appeared on (in)courage here. 

 

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6 Simple Prayers for When You’re Barely Hanging On

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I often feel like I’m living in the land of barely. Barely enough sleep. Barely enough patience. Barely keeping enough spoons and socks clean. (Seriously, what happens to all the spoons?!)  Barely fixing dinner. Barely getting dressed. Barely keeping my anxiety in check.

My default is to shame myself for all the barely. To “should” myself into doing better, trying harder.

Do you have a soundtrack of shoulds? I should be on top of things. I should manage my time better. I should be over this. I should be okay by now. I should be more grateful, more together, more spiritual. I should be less of an emotional mess.

But through the noise of my shame, I hear the voice of Jesus who keeps gently reminding me that He is the God of abundance who isn’t put off by my barely. When I’m barely holding on, God is abundantly able to hold me.

It’s because of our barely that Jesus laid Himself bare on the cross. He took all our weakness, sin, and failure upon His flawless self. He did it so we wouldn’t have to keep living in the land of barely… barely enough righteousness, barely enough sacrifice, barely enough grace.

The bloody cross and the empty tomb mean any barely we face is a fleeting circumstance. Our future is secure! God’s unshakable hope, His unending joy, His perfect peace — this is our inheritance! But the beautiful reality is that we don’t have to wait till heaven to receive it. It can be ours today!

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Romans 15:13 NIV

God’s peace isn’t reserved for the ones without mildew in their showers or strained relationships in their families. His joy isn’t set aside for the ones who have never known the ache of depression or the stress of stretched finances. His hope isn’t only designated for the optimists who never yell at their kids. The beauty of Jesus’s love and grace is that it’s poured out for all of us!

If you’re living in the land of barely today, the hope, peace, and joy of Jesus are available to you.

He wants to meet you in the muck. Exactly where you feel stuck. I know it’s true because He’s done it for me more times than I can count.

Years ago when I had a toddler who wouldn’t sleep — wouldn’t even stay in his crib for more than 90 seconds —  I remember sitting slumped and sobbing in the hallway, night after night, utterly at the end of my rope. I also remember Jesus sitting right there beside me.

In those weary and wrung-out moments, God’s Spirit would speak the words of James 1:2-5 to my heart:

“Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it” (The Message).

I definitely didn’t know what I was doing. Yet again and again, God helped me through the next moment. Now more than a decade later, I can see how that brutal season of barely feeling like the mom my child needed was indeed a gift. My son grew and matured at the same time God was growing and maturing me.

Or when I was in the dark pit of anxiety, before I had a name for it, and my mind raced like half dreams I couldn’t escape and my heart beat like I had overdosed on caffeine — Jesus met me there too. When I could barely make it from dinner to bedtime without snapping at my husband and crying without cause, Jesus drew near. Out of the abundance of His love, He sent friends to share their own experiences with anxiety so I didn’t feel alone. He led me to seek help and support through a trusted Christian counselor. He showed me that just as He had compassion for the physical suffering of the lame, the leper, and the blind, so too He has compassion for our mental suffering.

Again and again, Jesus reminded me that I am not alone.

Maybe today you need to know that Jesus is there with you too, but you don’t even have the words to tell Him.

Here are 6 simple prayers for when you’re barely hanging on:

     God, I don’t know what to do. Please give me wisdom for the next step.

     Jesus, I feel so alone. Show me that You are here.

     God, my mind and body are full of anxiety. Please fill me with Your peace.

     Jesus, I need joy that doesn’t depend on my circumstances.

     God, thank You for the gift of Your Spirit. Help me to overflow with hope.

     Jesus, please breathe Your abundance into my barely. I trust you.

Friend, tell Jesus about your hurt, your disappointment, your failure. Whatever barely looks like in your life today, it does not disqualify you from being abundantly loved by God.

If you need more lived-out hope in your week, subscribe to Becky’s new Hope and Reason Podcast. Also available on Spotify.

 

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Is That the Messiah? Is It Time?

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The next day, when the large crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, they took palm branches and went out to meet him. They kept shouting:
“Hosanna!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!”
John 12:12-13 CSB

We lined up in the church lobby — about 100 preschool and elementary school children and the volunteers tasked with keeping them quiet for those few minutes. I pressed my ear to the door, listening for our signal.

Ok, he’s still doing announcements, I thought, wondering how long our pastor was going to talk about Easter service times while these kiddos grew increasingly restless. I made a mental note to bring the kids out a few minutes later during the next service.

As the children’s ministry director at our church, Palm Sunday was one of my most stressful Sundays. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, moving up our own worship time and helping late families get to the right place, trying to estimate how long the beginning of the worship service would last, and then gently suggesting to our pastor that he perhaps make his announcements as concise as possible, despite the million details related to Easter Sunday.

And then there were the palm branches — scheduling their delivery, drying them off, stripping them into smaller pieces, distributing them, convincing second-grade boys to stop hitting one another with them, asking four-year-olds to stop chewing on them.

I’m a bit of a control freak. I like things to progress just so and according to plan. I function best under concrete timelines, clear expectations, and certain outcomes.

The Palm Sunday service involved too many moving pieces and too many elements beyond my control; my neck itched, and I wished for a second application of deodorant. I held a finger to my lips and shushed the group one more time. Please no one cry. Please no one have to go to the bathroom. I put my ear to the door again. Is it time?

Suddenly, the guitars picked back up, and there was our cue. The offering baskets began their journey up and down the rows of gray chairs as we opened the heavy sanctuary doors. I put my most enthusiastic volunteers at the front of the lines; we clapped our hands and said, “Wave those palm branches high, guys! It’s time.”

And we sang: Hosanna, hosanna!

Their lap through the sanctuary ended as quickly as it began, and I offered high-fives to each kid on their way out of the sanctuary. We spent the rest of the service learning about that word, “Hosanna,” and the humble King who fulfilled prophecy by riding into Jerusalem on a donkey.

But before I guided the little ones back into our normal Sunday routine, I took one last peek into the sanctuary of adults, normally very reserved in their worship. That’s when I saw them: the smiles. And that’s when I heard it: the laughter. And that’s when I felt it: the joy.

To think I almost missed it!

For the people of God, that first Palm Sunday was a celebration. Generation after generation waited for a sign of the promised Messiah. I imagine with every prophecy, shift in the weather, and change of regime and ruler, they wondered: Is that the Messiah? Is it time?

I wouldn’t function well in that long, long waiting. I wonder whether my faith would have withstood the questions and uncertainty. As Jesus rode on a donkey under their canopy of palm leaves, they shouted “Hosanna” and their hearts said, It’s time.

I just barely understand the sweet relief and rapturous celebration of that moment.

I’m not serving in children’s ministry right now; we’ve since moved 1,000 miles away from our old church. I’m home with my 3-year-old, 16-month-old, and newborn. Right now, we are finishing mortgage paperwork. With three under four and an impending move, it would be easy to get caught up in logistics and timelines and my control freak tendencies. But that’s not how I hope to spend this Easter season.

Instead, I’ll hand my toddlers some palm leaves cut from green construction paper, and when they wake up on Palm Sunday, I’ll tell them, “It’s time!”

And I won’t miss the joy.

 

Today’s devotion was written by guest author Lindsey Cornett and originally appeared on (in)courage here.

When It Feels Like You’re Wilting but You’re Wanting to Flourish

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The righteous thrive like a palm tree
and grow like a cedar tree in Lebanon.
Planted in the house of the Lord,
they thrive in the courts of our God.
They will still bear fruit in old age,
healthy and green,
to declare, “The Lord is just;
he is my rock,
and there is no unrighteousness in him.”
Psalm 92:12-15 CSB

These past few weeks I haven’t been praying.

I’ve wanted to, but still, I haven’t. I’m just so busy right now, I told myself. I’ll talk to Jesus soon. God will understand.

I wasn’t reading my Bible either. I saw it, sitting there on my nightstand, but it had been covered up by other things — glasses of water, notebooks, textbooks, my laptop.

I had a list of reasons the length of my arm for why I wasn’t praying or spending time with Jesus: I just had surgery, my second art show is quickly approaching, and the amount of schoolwork college assigns one person is still somewhat shocking to me.

All of those reasons are legitimate. But without any time spent with Jesus, all of those reasons were slowly emptying me.

A few days ago I was sitting on my bed, my white comforter beneath my crossed legs. I started crying. “I can’t do this anymore, Jesus,” I told Him. “I’m too tired. I’m too overwhelmed. I think I said yes to too many things. I think I’m going to have to pull all-nighters for the next month to finish everything I need to do. I feel like I’m drowning. No, not even drowning. I feel like I’m withering, like I’m shriveling right up.”

If I was a flower, I was a wilted one.

Because I’m a verbal processor, I was trying to fill up on people. I would talk to people about how I was feeling — overwhelmed, worried, and anxious about all the things I felt I needed to do. Unfortunately, no human was satisfying enough for me.

Jesus — the real source, the One who takes me and my shriveled-up self and breathes life into me, allowing me to slowly, slowly begin to work my way from a wilted flower to someone who can flourish — is necessary for me to survive.

Without Him, I am empty.

Only when I lay myself down, when I give Him my worries and fears and anxieties — including the things that I think must appear so petty to Him — can I finally be full. I want my roots to sink deep into who Jesus Christ is, so that I can stand strong and firm, not on my own accord but on His.

So I started to pray again. I began writing my prayers down, and asking certain people in my life how I could pray for them. I began reading Hebrews, and I focused on how God keeps giving us grace. And slowly, slowly (because these things are always a slow, thoughtful process) I have begun filling up again.

I’m no longer wilting. My circumstances have remained the same, but my roots have vastly changed. May I never again be rooted in my own self, but instead ground myself in Jesus: the rock, the One who will forever sustain me.

Do you feel wilted or like you’re flourishing?
In what ways do you think you can root yourself further into Jesus Christ?

Today’s devotion originally appeared on (in)courage here. 

 

The Sit-Down Season

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I remember the thrill of just finding out I was pregnant. I went over to my parents’ house and my mother caught me smiling at nothing, “What is that smile about?” she inquired. I had no chill and exclaimed, “I guess I’m pregnant!” We laughed because I had only been married for one whole month.

But the excitement soon faded as I was so nauseous I couldn’t even go to work. I had to quit, as I was practically bedridden, emerging only when I needed gas station powdered donuts or a bean burrito at 10 a.m. from the local Mexican restaurant that quickly got to know my husband’s desperate voice. Then when the nausea passed, I was fine but way less mobile. I wasn’t going on runs anymore, that’s for sure.  My body was changing and growing rapidly. I frustratingly couldn’t do what I used to! And forget about the last trimester. It seemed like I was out of breath all the time due to the giant walrus sitting on my lungs. I was so tired.

This is what my first year in seminary has felt like. Excitement: I can conquer the world! To the wait-a-minute-moment: Um, I think I won’t be able to run like I used to. I’m exhausted! To the realization that I am sort of sitting on the couch at the moment, feeling the weight of something transitioning inside of me. It is exciting, it is challenging, and it comes with physical limits. That is why I have had to let go of some commitments during this season which includes writing here for the beloved (in)courage. 

There are seasons of running and seasons of sitting down, and recognizing that one is not greater than the other is helpful for me.

I think a lot about Jesus and His time before He came into His public ministry at age thirty: What was He doing before? We don’t have much to look at in the Gospels during this time but we do know Jesus was fully human with regular physical limits. Even in John 4:6 (ESV), it says:

“So Jesus, wearied as he was from his journey, was sitting beside the well.”

Before He came into public ministry though, Jesus was probably doing sit-down stuff like memorizing the Torah, which was so incredibly key to Jewish culture and for Jesus’ future ministry. Or maybe for hours, He was learning from Joseph how to whittle wood so the joints made a perfect fit. We can use our imagination, but the Gospel of John makes it clear that Jesus had physical limitations of time and energy just like you and me. And while I certainly diverge from being God’s gift to man (HA!), I feel like I can relate to Jesus’s waiting season, His sit-down season, the times He got weary and needed to rest.

Those learning years weren’t big and flashy; it was probably tedious and interesting in the same breath. But it seems like this is my season, these next two years, to sit in the classroom, slow down, learn, and whittle away at some theology. 

And so while I leave a group that has been immensely encouraging (no pun intended), I am also encouraged that saying no to one thing means I can say yes to something else and trust that God will bring you new and fresh voices in this space. He will! Thank you for being with me, encouraging my work with your comments, and laughing at my often mediocre jokes. May God bless this ministry and those who benefit from it.   

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A note to our (in)courage Community: These goodbyes from a few writers have been so sad for us, but we’re also deeply grateful to have cultivated a community that cheers women on in whatever God has for them. His ways are higher. His gifts are always good. And speaking of good gifts, make sure you tune in NEXT FRIDAY for a happy-happy-joy-joy announcement you don’t want to miss!  -Your (in) Team

 

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His Mercies Are New Every Minute

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I’m in my car and turning onto the interstate that takes me over the lake. I like the way the water sparkles — like a mirror, always reflecting the light of the good sun.

As the water sparkles, I think about something that younger me never realized. Right here in my car, with nothing mystical or magnificent happening, I feel God and His presence. I think of the passage of Scripture that carried me through my weary, teenage years: the steadfast love of God never stops, and His mercies are new every morning.

Long gone are my adolescent years when I’d cry myself to sleep, unsure of God’s mercy and overwhelmed with the weight of life. Desperate to believe that God’s mercy was really for me, I’d cry my heart out just before sleep so many nights, only to wake up puffy-eyed and hoping the newness that I felt from waking to a new day was God’s way of waking me to new mercies.

Looking back, I now see that God’s mercy didn’t just come to me every morning; it also carried me through every night and every minute of every day. And if I held on to Him then, I can hold on to Him this minute, never needing to hold out for the morning to wash me anew. I can recall His mercies to my mind now, right here in this car driving over the lake that sparkles with the light of the good sun.

Wherever you are today, God’s mercies are available to you. Whether you’re raging over the injustices in your life or in the world, or you’re weary from the everyday mundane. Whether you cry yourself to sleep at night or bemoan when morning comes, you can count on God’s new mercies to meet you.

His mercies are new every minute, every millisecond, stretching wide and reaching deep to cover us for any reason . . . at any time, in any place. You can step into each new day knowing God’s love meets you and carries you.

by Rachel Marie Kang, as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

Our new book, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, will take you on a journey of learning to see God clearer and to know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles. As you experience pain, move through daily challenges, or get bogged down by anxieties big or small, you’ll learn to find Him right in the middle of it, ready to strengthen you and give you rest. 

In this beautiful book, you’ll find:

  • Relatable stories from all of your favorite (in)courage writers
  • 100 life-line Scriptures to recenter your focus
  • Journaling space to write your thoughts or prayers
  • A place to record how God is strengthening you every day!

It’s a devotional journal that will feel like sitting down with dearest friends and seeking God together in the middle of your mess or struggle.

Order your copy today; we cannot wait for you to read this book. You can also add it to your “want to read” shelf on Goodreads, and find a FREE 14-day reading plan on YouVersion with full excerpts from 100 Days!

 

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For When You’re Tired of Being the Backup Friend

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“Mom, I feel like I’m the backup friend.”

I knew exactly what she meant as soon as she said it, but I asked her to clarify anyway. And sure enough, my sweet middle schooler was afraid that she was nobody’s first choice, that all her friends liked someone else better than her. She felt like they only saw her as a backup to their true preference, their first choice.

Thankfully, this discussion — like so many others — took place in the car, while I sat directly in front of my daughter on our way to dance class. If I tilted my head just right, I could catch her eye in the rearview mirror, but for the most part, I couldn’t see her and she couldn’t see me. That was a relief because tears had immediately sprung to my eyes — not an unusual occurrence for me, for sure, so my daughter would not have been surprised to see me cry. Though her words and her pain struck something deep inside me, I didn’t want to make the conversation about me.

But it could have been.

Just a couple of days before that car conversation, I’d realized that I was absolutely the backup friend to someone I’d made my first choice. “It didn’t even occur to me to call you,” she said without apology. It wasn’t an insult, just a simple fact. And in that moment, and in the moment I heard my daughter share her situation, I felt exactly twelve years old. And fourteen and nineteen and twenty-three and twenty-eight and thirty-two and thirty-eight and, yes, forty-four. Because I’ve felt overlooked or ignored by friends so many times through the years. The feeling may have first shown up in elementary or middle school, but it never seems to go away.

I didn’t tell my daughter that part, though I assured her she was not alone in her feelings. I told her a few stories of times I’d felt like the last one picked for dodgeball (noting that I have also literally experienced being picked last for dodgeball), and I reminded her that one of her very own friends had said she felt like second choice not too long ago.

More importantly, as we drove down the road and later as we sat together on the couch, I told my daughter the same two things I tell myself (over and over and over):

1. What you’re going through is hard, and I know it hurts. I’m sorry you’re feeling sad and lonely.

To myself, I might use some stronger language, saying straight out, “You know what? This just sucks. It does!” But while I didn’t say it quite that way to my daughter, I made sure to give her space to grieve, to sit with her in the pain, to acknowledge how hard this — and most everything related to friendship — really is. Though I’m admittedly a “fixer,” I tried hard not to jump in with suggestions for making it all better. And when I’m grieving my own friendship status, I make an effort to give myself the grace to feel the pain before moving on to the practical solutions part of my moping.

And for my daughter, myself, and anyone else I find myself weeping with while they weep (Romans 12:15), I also try to point back to God before looking to ourselves for answers. That’s why the next thing I say when you’re tired of being second choice is this:

2. You are God’s first choice.

Friends may sit with someone else in the cafeteria, forget to invite us to the slumber party or the movie night, or forget to add our number to the group text. We might not get picked for the team, the group project, the solo, the part, the homecoming date, the plus one to the wedding, the delivery room, or the mastermind group. But no matter how many people deem us unworthy, God never will.

God will never snub us or roll His eyes when we try to talk to Him. He’ll never leave us out of His big plan. He won’t turn His back on us or walk by without making eye contact. He won’t let us down or hurt us. He will never pick anyone before us.

God chooses you. (John 15:16)
Before you were even born, He chose you! (Jeremiah 1:5)
Before the world was made, He chose you. (Ephesians 1:4)
Out of all the people, God chooses you. Yes, you! (Deuteronomy 14:2)

If you’re feeling like a backup friend today, my heart is heavy for you. I know how that feels, and it’s horrible. If you’re feeling like you’ll never be anyone’s first choice, take heart. Don’t spiral into those dark thoughts! You are someone’s first choice. You’re the first choice of the One. You are loved by God. You are valued and treasured. You are chosen.

This article first appeared on (in)courage here.

 

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The Ministry of Wonder

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This week, I started reading, The Hidden Life of Trees, by Peter Wohlleben, and it’s safe to say that my mind is blown, my imagination re-ignited, and my hope in God’s good work in the world has been buoyed. In his book, Wohlleben writes that trees not only communicate, they create community. Just yesterday evening, I stood up from my reading spot on the living room couch to announce to whomever in my family would listen: Trees scream when they are thirsty!

My family is used to these kinds of enthusiastic whoa-filled announcements from me. This week it’s trees, but over the last few years, it’s been mind-blowing information about the social habits of elephants and the language of whales – all gleaned from Nat Geo documentaries that I’ve been obsessed with.

I’ve always been a curious person, and I’ve always loved learning new things, but this recent thirst for wonder and things outside of my world of understanding has felt more like desperation.

The last few years have been hard. I haven’t recovered well from the pandemic years — like some have seemed to subtly and not-so-subtly suggest I should have by now. But I’ve still been reeling from multiple fractures that left my wrist altered, broken community, a broken friendship, beyond-me-parenting challenges, and the weariness of our online lives and parenting in this reality. In the rise of new normals, and refreshing new takes, I’ve spent days still stuck in the remains of what fell apart – trying to gather the pieces I find and understand how and why.

The honest truth is that I’m still trying to make sense of it all, and in my effort, I find myself consistently gravitating toward a fork in the road. One path leads me ever deeper into bitterness, and the other leads me to the ministry of wonder.

I’ve held fast to these books and documentaries about the natural world because they urge me to become childlike again: openhearted and ready to receive. I am awed by God’s creation and the depths of it that are still unknown and somehow this not-knowing gives my heart and mind the rest it needs. When expert scientists write, “There’s still so much we don’t know,” I’m buoyed by the reminder of God’s vastness and the fact that God’s love matches that same enormity.

Like Job when he wrestles through bitterness and begins to distrust that God is good and cares about justice, I am pulled from my narrow view, my bitter heart, and reminded of how small my understanding is and how deeply loved I am in the midst of that. God is a poet — the original poet — and speaks to Job through poetry (which also blows my mind):

Where were you when I created the earth?
Tell me, since you know so much!
Who decided on its size? Certainly you’ll know that!
Who came up with the blueprints and measurements?
How was its foundation poured,
and who set the cornerstone,
While the morning stars sang in chorus
and all the angels shouted praise?
And who took charge of the ocean
when it gushed forth like a baby from the womb?
That was me! I wrapped it in soft clouds,
and tucked it in safely at night.
Then I made a playpen for it,
a strong playpen so it couldn’t run loose,
And said, ‘Stay here, this is your place.
Your wild tantrums are confined to this place.’
Job 38: 4-11 The Message

While it could almost seem like God is making little of Job’s cares and concerns, I find that re-focusing on how vast creation is reassures God’s care for all the details of every living thing. When I’m reminded that God tucked the ocean in with care, I’m reminded that I am held in that same care. When I think about the complexities and needs of trees – that they age, compete for space, care for each other, share resources, thirst, speak, and reach for light — or of the stars being made to sing, or the intentional measurements of the earth, I remember that I too am thought of, created, seen, given boundaries, and known in my complexity alongside all living things in the world.

When God answers Job’s accusations about being unjust with details of care for the cosmos, I find rest for the unanswered questions that keep me awake at night. I’m reminded that I can bring my honesty to God again and again, wrestle and question, and then let wonder minister to my bitter, tangled heart – softening it and helping it recover and remember who God is and whose I am.

Wonder leads me back to God and my own belovedness.

The bare, brown trees outside have become messengers of grace to me as I wait for winter to move on – both the literal season and the years-long season of the soul I’ve been in. I see them with the backdrop of the sunrise these days and remember how much unseen work and life is there in their root systems and trunks despite what looks stripped bare and dead. I’m so glad for their company and for the hand of God in every part of creation that waits and makes room for the kingdom of God alongside the wild aches and hard questions that remain.

 

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Keep Less to Experience More

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When our family prepared to move from a home with a large, unfinished basement to a home with no basement at all, we knew we had a lot of purging to do. Our older children left boxes behind when they moved out on their own, and we’d accumulated things in a way that reflected our seemingly unlimited storage capacity. In the end, it felt more like a curse than a blessing.

We donated over 300 boxes, including lots of hand-me-down clothing we no longer needed. We rented a dumpster and filled it to the brim with things that held no real value; it was more than our weekly garbage service could handle. We loaded a U-Haul with desks, furniture, and exercise equipment we had quit using and dropped them off at a local charity, hoping they’d find new homes.

Sometimes it felt like I wasn’t just purging my house; I was purging my soul. All that stuff had become an emotional burden.

In a perfect world (my children say I use this phrase a lot), we would have disposed of everything we no longer needed before the move. It was certainly the goal. But painting bathrooms and baseboards, calling in contractors, attending home inspections, and scrambling to find another house when we terminated the first contract we signed took too much time.

I wanted a fresh start in our new home, a chance to break habits that created more chaos than comfort, and to discover if less really was more.

I reflected on my relationship with stuff and how I was starting to use sentimental objects as they were intended instead of treating them like sacred objects. I saw that clutter could hijack my goals and steal my inner peace. Lately, I’ve been working my way through the final and most difficult items left to sort.

One of our (in)courage contributors, Kathi Lipp, is an expert on decluttering. Recently when I couldn’t decide what to do with a sentimental object, she asked me, “Will you ever go looking for it?” It’s a powerful question that continues to help me filter what should stay and what should go. She said that everything I get rid of makes space for growth in my life and teaches me to trust that God will bring what I need in the moment. It’s both wise and biblically sound advice.

“Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are?”
Matthew 6:26 NLT

I’m learning to put quality over quantity. When we had too many children’s books, they stayed in a box (our youngest child is sixteen). We’ve weeded down to a few favorites and put them out on a shelf. Now our grandchildren have discovered family favorites like Good Night Little Bear and Madeline.

While trying to decide where to put cases of old music CDs, my children pointed out that we don’t even own a CD player anymore and that I can stream music now with apps on my phone, computer, or TV. I looked through them, rediscovered some old favorites, put them on my current playlists, and then gave the CDs to charity.

My sister and I sorted through a box of figurines our mother had collected. We each kept two or three favorites and put the rest in the donation box, smiling because we knew they’d make someone very happy. A couple of tiny treasures that had spent years in a box in my basement now sit on a shelf in my home.

By keeping less, we experience more.

Do you, too, find yourself bogged down by possessions that no longer bring you pleasure? Let’s look for ways to enjoy what we treasure and bless others with what we no longer need, trusting that God will provide for us.

This devotion is by Dawn Camp and featured in the spring issue of Everyday Faith Magazine.

The Spring issue of DaySpring’s Everyday Faith magazine is out, and we think you’ll love it!

This year, and always, we are focusing on the truth that God has a plan for our lives and He makes all things new, which He tells us in His Word over and over. We hope this issue helps you know and share God’s love in fresh, authentic, and inspiring ways!

From cover to cover in Everyday Faith magazine, you will find stories and articles to inspire hope and encouragement and to remind you that no matter what you are facing or what life brings your way, God is making all things new for you. You will also find tips for creating a peaceful home and studying the Bible, anecdotes about persevering through difficult times, and stories of Easter traditions. You will find firsthand accounts of faith and comfort, and you will find truth from God’s Word.

This article is just one of many featured in Everyday Faith magazine, which, by the way, is perfect for gifting to a friend, Bible study sister, Sunday School teacher, or neighbor. And to help you do just that, we’re giving away FIVE sets of magazines — one for each winner and one for them to give to a friend! Leave a comment telling us to whom you’d gift a copy, and we’ll draw five winners.

Giveaway is open to US addresses only and will close on 3/21/24 at 11:59 pm central. 

 

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The Unfailing Love of God

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Your unfailing love is better than life itself;
how I praise you!
I will praise you as long as I live,
lifting up my hands to you in prayer.
Psalm 63:3-4 NLT

Unfailing. What an adjective! The very definition of unfailing uses words like constant, inexhaustible, infallible, and sure. Those words don’t always describe me or the way I love those around me. My love could probably often be described as exhaustible, fickle, and very conditional. That is human nature. Even on our best days, our love pales in comparison with the love of God. That’s the way it should be. We were never meant to love in our own strength. We were always meant to love others with the overflow of His love. To love as God loves, we first need to realize how much He really does love us.

The whole of Psalm 63 follows King David into the wilderness while he is on the run from his enemies. I would assume a situation like this would be the time I would doubt God’s love the most. But David didn’t. This was one of the times he trusted God’s love for him the most. His circumstances were hard and fearful, but he knew God was trustworthy. He knew God was faithful. He put every ounce of his being into giving God glory and praise even though his circumstances hadn’t changed.

Somehow David kept a thankful heart.

He had come to know that God’s unfailing love was literally better than life itself. He had tasted and seen His goodness. He knew it trumped anything this world could ever hope to offer. He knew God’s love was unconditional, unyielding, and unwavering.

I need to be reminded of that truth often. People disappoint. Seasons can be hard. Sin rears its ugly head. And yet, the Creator of the universe sees the depths of our hearts and loves us the same.

God’s love for us is not dependent on our faithfulness. It depends on His. He is love.

He sees our sins and offers us forgiveness. He sees our flaws and offers us grace. He sees our doubt and offers us truth. He sees us trapped in a pit and offers us rescue.

I don’t live in this space as easily as I wish I did. I know myself. I know I don’t always treat others well. I know my weaknesses and insecurities and the sin I try so hard to fight. Through it all, God loves me. And He loves you. He pursues us at all costs and to great lengths. His pursuit of us is constant. He fights for us. He loves us that much. He sees past who we are now and sees the potential of who we are called to be.

If we think God views us in a negative light, He doesn’t. I’ve never been more glad to be wrong. He calls us:

Chosen.

Holy.

Beloved.

I pray that we will learn to find our identity in the One who is faithful, rest in His unfailing love, and live out of the overflow into the lives of the broken world around us.

Do you view yourself as chosen, holy, and beloved? Why or why not?

 

This devotion was written by Karina Allen and originally published on (in)courage here.

You Are Not Actually Alone

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“Immediately the Spirit drove him into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days, being tempted by Satan. He was with the wild animals, and the angels were serving him.”
Mark 1:12-13 CSB

I’m sitting at my dining room table, country music playing just a smidge too loudly behind me as my daughters have a dance party on what feels like the seventy-third snow day this month. I reach for my Bible, running my hand down the whisper-thin pages, and close my eyes.

Before I can even say hello to God, much less reflect on His holiness, one of my daughters is crying and the other is shouting about how it’s not her fault — she didn’t do anything! This time, I close my eyes, but in frustration, not reverence.

I settle this latest argument and suggest a litany of quiet activities my kids might enjoy for a while. Finally, peace. My hand hovers over my Bible, but – much as I’m embarrassed to admit it – I hesitate. My phone is sitting right there, just waiting for me, begging for my attention, promising to entertain me and numb all the irritations that have cropped up this day.

Even if I manage to ignore the pull of my phone, my mind and heart are still so prone to wander.

What time is my appointment this afternoon?
Did I return that message? I should do that real quick, right now.
Why is the cat crying? Guess I better give her fresh water.
That reminds me: I need to refill my water bottle.
Maybe I should try that devotional I bought a few months ago.
I’m just going to pay that bill online . . . and answer that one email . . . and check on that project . . .

When I began studying ways to prepare my heart for Easter, something many know as the season of Lent, I read everything I could find about the time Jesus spent in the wilderness. While accounts can be found in three of the gospels, the brief description in Mark is what resonated most deeply with me.

Thinking of Jesus, alone in the wilderness, being tempted by Satan, surrounded by wild animals was a breath of fresh air to my distracted, weary soul. I feel alone! I’m tempted all the time! And yes, at times it feels like I’m surrounded by wild animals!

When we struggle to quiet our lives and our hearts enough to focus on God, Jesus knows exactly how we feel. And what I know from passages in Matthew and Luke is that despite the desperate situation in which He found Himself, He resisted temptation. The angels served Him, He leaned on His knowledge of Scripture and faith in God, and He resisted.

So what does that mean for me, as I think about one more failed attempt at a simple quiet time? What does that mean for you, as you feel the hunger and isolation of wilderness or battle attacks from temptation of all kinds, as you long for communion with the Lord but feel unable to get there, to stay there, to remember why you were going there in the first place?

It means this: Our Lord and Savior isn’t just the One who can quench our thirst and ease our pain. He is worthy of our praise and adoration, but He also is intimately familiar with our challenges and our struggles. He knows the strength it requires to seek Him and abide with Him, and He knows that, without Him, we will perish in the wilderness.

It means that not only is Jesus our goal when we set aside time for Him, but He is our solution for fighting through all the distractions and temptations that work so hard to keep us away. It means that no matter how barren and empty our personal wilderness may feel, we are not actually alone in our search for God. Just as the angels were with Him, Jesus is with us.

Dear Lord, thank You for going first into the wilderness — for showing us how important it is to get alone and quiet, to seek God, and to listen. Thank You for going with us when we face temptation and distraction — for giving us the tools we need to resist. Jesus, You are worth every effort it takes to quiet my mind and my heart. You are worthy of every minute I devote to You above all else. Please meet me in this place. Bind my wandering heart to Yours. Keep my eyes set on You. Thank You, Lord, for never letting me go. Amen. 

Excerpt from Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter by Mary Carver.

It’s not too late to have a meaningful Lenten season. Let us send you a FREE sampler from our Lenten devotional, Journey to the Cross! Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter was written with women of all stages in mind so that we can all better experience the power and wonder of Easter with intentionality and depth.

Get your FREE sampler from Journey to the Cross!

 

When You’re Doing the Work of Two People in a Friendship

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Author Elizabeth Stone wrote that being a parent is “…to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” As a mama to three beloved older children myself, I say, Amen, Elizabeth. Certainly, parenting often feels like that.

And if you’re a tender-hearted gal like I am, it can feel like your heart is more exposed than the average person’s whether you have children or not. I feel things acutely, and in the process, my heart can get banged up and bruised as it bumps into the hard stuff of humanity.

This tender-hearted tendency is part of what makes me an Enneagram Two. Typically, Enneagram Two’s are empathetic and friendly. My currency is relationships – -family and friendships. When my important relationships are in good shape, I’m in good shape. If they’re not, then I’m not. One positive of an Enneagram Two like me is I love to help you in any way you need. One negative is that I love to help you in any way you might not need or want. Heh. Sometimes, I’m a bit too hands-on.

Generally speaking, this desire to help still serves other people and myself well. But from time to time, it does not.

For example, one way this inclination to “over help” has shown itself is in my friendships, particularly at the beginning of a potential new one. I will reach out to the other person, inviting her to do this or that. I may text her fairly regularly to ask how she and her family are doing. That’s well and good when the other person is interested in forming a friendship with me. But if she’s not, that becomes apparent through her lack of reciprocation.

But instead of seeing the situation as it is, I’ve been known to double down by reaching out to her more often. ⁠

⁠In short, I’ll begin doing the work for both of us.

Now, that’s not to say that persistence doesn’t pay off from time to time. Perhaps the other person isn’t reaching out because she doesn’t think to, is busy, or is shy, rather than because she’s not really interested in a friendship with me.

In a long-held friendship, I may spend more time reaching out to another friend than she is to me if that friend is going through a particularly difficult time. When someone’s life is in triage, it’s certainly good to check in on her more than you might normally. It’s good to let her have the floor more often to share about what she’s going through. Seasoned friendships call for periods when the scales of give and take are lopsided.

But whether a friendship is one you’ve had for a while or is just getting off the ground, it shouldn’t always be lopsided. And if it is, then more often than not, you and I need to read the writing on the wall and accept that this friendship probably isn’t meant to be. ⁠

But I tell you, this is sometimes easier said than done for my Enneagram Two heart that sits just under my skin. Concerning this, I used to say things to myself like, “I’m not giving up on her! I need to try harder!” But the blessing of being 49 and having a good deal of maturity at this point in life is understanding that sometimes, giving up is exactly the right thing to do.

1 Thessalonians tells us, “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing” (5:11 NIV).

I also like the insight found in The Message’s interpretation of this verse: “So speak encouraging words to one another. Build up hope so you’ll all be together in this, no one left out, no one left behind.”

As an encourager myself, I’ve always looked at this verse as part of my personal mission to “build up hope” in folks’ lives. And while I recognize that none of us can be friends with everyone, I don’t want to “leave behind” one whom I’d like to be friends with. However, if the other person is showing little to no interest in a friendship with me, then letting her be isn’t the same as leaving her behind. It’s honoring her choice to go in a different direction — the same choice we all want to have.

When I’m getting a lukewarm response from someone after extending the hand of friendship, I’ve found freedom in saying to myself, “Ya know, Kristen, she’s just not able to reciprocate now. Maybe she won’t be ever. Either way, you’re gonna be fine.” ⁠And then I decide to take the pressure off myself (and her!) and just let her be.

With a willingness to keep my heart open to people, time and experience have taught me that while I can’t do the work of two people in a friendship, I can trust God to work toward my good in leading me to those who’ll welcome my efforts and reciprocate with their own. I can embrace a friendly way towards others and towards my tender-hearted self, too.

To receive your free digital copy of 27 Ways to Be the Kind of Friend You Want to Have, click here.

 

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New Friends and a Table for 12

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Tables. Let’s talk about tables. There has been a lot of talk about tables. It seems that everywhere I turn there is a sermon, a podcast, or a song mentioning tables. Why do you suppose that is? It’s because so much of life happens around a table.

We eat there during our daily meals. We enjoy large feasts for the holidays. We celebrate successes and mourn losses, all around the table. We share stories and laughs. We ask questions and give advice. We dream and strategize. We even have hard conversations, all around the table.

I had the joy of being invited to sit around a table for a Galentine’s gathering. My friend Amie was the host. She and her husband recently moved back to Baton Rouge after living in other states for some years. As we all can imagine, re-entry to a place that has changed in your absence can be complex. But Amie has a ton of dear friends and has had sweet community in the cities she has lived in. She desires to create that type of community now back in her hometown.

Amie’s dream has always been to have a table that seats twelve. Her dream finally came true. Delivered to her new house a week before our gathering was a stunning table that, when extended, fits exactly twelve. Each woman who came that night was beautiful, kind, smart, funny, engaging, talented, humble, gracious, and madly in love with Jesus. We were all in varying degrees of ministry, of different ages and seasons of life.

We ate and laughed and cried. We shared our hearts, dreams, and passions. We shared the challenges of life where we needed prayer and we shared how God has answered prayers. We encouraged and challenged one another. Each one of us felt seen, heard, loved, and valued.

I tend to be someone who makes friends rather easily. I find great joy in new friendships, yet a room full of strangers can be intimidating. I’m so grateful that Amie fought her fears or doubts to extend the invitation and create space for connection. I’m so grateful that I said ‘yes’ to the invite.

I read on a blog that “In the Bible, the table has always been a place of presence — where God is present with His people and His people are present with one another.” I think that is beautiful. That’s exactly what took place that night.

We all began the night as strangers and left as friends, sisters, and cheerleaders. I’m expectant about what the Lord will continue to teach me through the lives of each of my new friends. And I’m thrilled to be on a mission to further the gospel and build the kingdom with a group of women who have burning hearts for Jesus.

I think about the life of Christ. He spent a great deal of time reclining at tables. He entered the homes of friends and strangers. He was invited and welcomed in and He invited Himself into some of those spaces. He shared meals. He taught parables that explained the kingdom. He healed the sick. He delivered the demonized. He saved the lost and encouraged the broken.

In Luke 19:1-10, Jesus invites Himself to the home of Zacchaeus, a notorious sinner in his community. Jesus knew he was curious about turning his life around and making amends. Jesus quickly extended grace and forgave him.

Luke 7:36-50 is one of my favorite moments in Scripture. Here we find yet another person known to be a sinner in their community. This woman barges her way into a private dinner where Jesus is in attendance. She lavishes worship on Jesus by anointing Him with costly oil and her tears. In the presence of Jesus, she was truly repentant. Again, forgiveness was given and generously so.

In the Passover supper recorded in Matthew 26:17-30, Jesus tells the disciples of the new covenant that will be ushered in because of His death and resurrection. He leads them in prayers of thanks. They break bread and drink wine. He exposes a future betrayal. They worship.

Another inspiring moment in Scripture happens in Luke 14:1-6. On the Sabbath, Jesus finds Himself at the home of a Pharisee for a meal. A man is in attendance who is sick in his body. Without hesitation, Jesus heals the man. And Jesus asks the religious leaders questions that they had no answers to.

When Jesus shows up at the table, everything changes. His presence shatters all confusion. It brings peace to chaos. It brings hope, healing, and restoration. His presence ushers in waves of grace and mercy, love and redemption.

There is always room for you at His table. He welcomes us in our sin, our shame, our brokenness. He covers us in His blood, forgives us, and sets us free.

At His table, we find our Savior, our Lord, our Father, and our friend.

Are you in a season where you need a seat at His table? I’d love for you to share so I can encourage you!

 

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Death Comes Before Resurrection

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It was a few days before Ash Wednesday, the day when people go to church, have ashes spread on their foreheads, and hear someone utter: Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

I didn’t go to the Ash Wednesday service this year. I didn’t need a reminder of our mortality. I had received one just days earlier when a friend of mine passed away. It shocked my system. His death triggered old trauma. But I was set to speak at an event in Calgary, Alberta so I got on a plane. 

As soon as I finished speaking, I hoofed it to my rental car and drove to the mountains. I felt like I could crawl out of my skin and I needed to get close to something God Himself had made. I wept and drove, wept and drove. I cranked worship music. The mountains came into view – sweeping and grandiose, looming larger and so much steadier than me. I could feel myself take a deep breath, and then another. 

I kept my eyes on the mountains and told Jesus how little I felt I had left in me. I told Him how tired I am of people dying. I told Him that I didn’t want to go to more funerals. 

God knows funerals well. He was the only person present at the funeral of Moses. 

In Deuteronomy 34, the final chapter in the five books of the Hebrew Torah, Moses died. Even the fearless leader had to face death. Moses’ friends and family weren’t surrounding him when he passed away, but he did have God. 

“And Moses the servant of the Lord died there in Moab, as the Lord had said. He buried him in Moab…” Deuteronomy 34:5-6 NIV

The “He” in verse six is God. Did you catch that? It’s striking: God buried Moses. 

How did God feel when He buried His friend? When He was pouring dirt over the face of the man He spoke to face-to-face? 

God knew Moses would be with Him forever, and yet He still had the tenderness to bury Him. God put His hands in the earth, got dirt under His fingernails, and knelt beside a body that no longer breathed life. 

God was not absent or distant in the face of Moses’ death. He didn’t rush through the grief in order to celebrate how Moses would soon be with Him in eternity. No one saw God bury Moses, but God deemed a funeral important enough to perform it Himself.

God doesn’t seem to be afraid of burials. I can’t help but wonder how vital He knows them to be – because death comes before resurrection. 

Resurrection is coming. We know that to be true, particularly in this Lenten season when Easter will soon arrive. We wait with anticipation to celebrate the glorious resurrection of Jesus, who defeated death once and for all. Easter Sunday is one of my favorite days of the year. 

But resurrection means that someone has died. 

Our God is not in the habit of rushing through death or grieving. He wept at the tomb of His friend in John 11, and He buried His friend all alone in Deuteronomy 34. 

He is “a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.” He knows your grief, and He knows mine. 

Easter is coming, to be sure. But Good Friday comes first. God isn’t afraid of death or your grief. He weeps with us. He is close to the brokenhearted.

And soon, when we begin to see a glimmer of light from beneath the sadness, we can hold fast to this, too… 

Resurrection is coming. 

 

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Seeing the Full Picture When We Look Back

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This was the year I dreaded buying Christmas cards. Because you can search every shelf, but you won’t find one that reads, “Joy to the Lord! This year I doubted God!”

For the first time in my life, I had questioned God’s goodness. I questioned His sovereignty. I questioned my own adherence to beliefs that weren’t doing a thing in the face of a particular grief. I also published two books, took a spontaneous road trip with my husband and kids, and survived working from home while also helping my daughters do school at home.

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

I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I know it’s true. All the amazing things that happened aren’t less real 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.

The good parts of the year are actually richer because of the thread of pain and doubt and struggle that winds through the weeks and months. Only by seeing the good and the hard intertwined and overlapping do I see how faithful God has been to me.

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

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”
Hebrews 13:8 NLT

by Mary Carver, as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

Our newest book, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, will take you on a journey of learning to see God clearer and to know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles. As you experience pain, move through daily challenges, or get bogged down by anxieties big or small, you’ll learn to find Him right in the middle of it, ready to strengthen you and give you rest. 

Order your copy today; we cannot wait for you to read this book. You can also add it to your “want to read” shelf on Goodreads, and find a FREE 14-day reading plan on YouVersion with full excerpts from 100 Days!

 

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Beloved, You Are Covered by the Blood of Jesus

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It was a great day, until it wasn’t.

The house was quiet. The toddler was compliant. A friend had stopped by to deliver a bouquet of beautiful flowers and gluten-free macarons, all in celebration of my book release.

But all the calmness of my day went away the moment I fell down the stairs — the moment I slipped and landed hard on the middle of my back, the impact sending a shock through my spine.

I’m no stranger to back pain, and I’ve had my fair share of accidents and injuries. So, believe me when I tell you I knew exactly how bad this fall was. In an instant, I imagined how this scenario would pan out. First, the headaches would come. Then, my muscles would tighten and pull. Then, of course, my neck and back would be riddled with pain.

I knew I’d need to see a chiropractor, but I cringed at the very thought because chiropractors cost money — money that I didn’t have in this current season. So, there I was, my body tensing up and taking on pain. Meanwhile, deep down inside, I opened myself to a tornado of fears in my mind and a tsunami of tears in my heart.

Within the next few days, I made some calls — but, of course, I got the runaround. We don’t accept your insurance. You only have five chiropractic care visits. You need this kind of plan. You need this kind of referral. I finally ended up going to my primary care doctor. I told her I’d fallen and needed to see a chiropractor. She asked me if I had any bruises. Did I hit my head? No broken bones?

Her demeanor and tone told me exactly what I feared would happen. That, judging from the outside, it seemed I was fine. I took a deep breath and told her about my past pains and my health history. I told her I knew my body and knew what I needed . . . and if she could please refer me to a chiropractor.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “But . . . I’ll try to send a referral in.”

Days later, I found myself sitting in the waiting room at a chiropractor’s office. While I waited to be called back, I entertained my tornado of fears. I imagined the bills piling up as I struggled to afford a treatment plan that could cost me thousands of dollars. (True story. This happened not too long ago — and I’m still paying down those medical debts).

But then, I saw something.

From the corner of my eye, I caught the light passing through the glass table in front of me. The light formed a rainbow on the floor and, as it danced about, it drew my eyes to see a Bible on the table.

In an instant, my fears were stilled and I felt peace as I took in the reminder that God is God and God is good, even here — in the middle of this doctor’s office where I worried about my back and my bills.

Later, when the woman in the office opened up my case, she told me the suggested treatment plan and that the thirty (yes, thirty) suggested office visits would ALL be covered by insurance.

My jaw dropped. Tears welled up in my eyes. “You don’t understand,” I said through shock and tears. And she didn’t. She didn’t know that just days earlier I’d been told my insurance wouldn’t cover any of this. She didn’t know about my health history and my high co-pays, having to dish out money for expensive specialists and food specific to my dietary needs.

She didn’t know about my work situation, financial situation, or health situation. She didn’t know about the one thousand burdens stapled to my back. She couldn’t possibly have known how badly I needed the reminder that independence and self-sufficiency and doing things in the name of strength and strategy can only take you so far, can only take care of you for so long.

She didn’t know I needed the reminder that I needed Jesus — that I am His beloved and I am covered by His blood. Right then and there, I needed the reminder that Jesus sees and saves me. He sees the impossible bills, the needs and fears that keep me up at night. He sees my sin of self-sufficiency and all the ways I try to heal and save myself.

Beloved, when will we ever not need to be reminded that our only confidence in life is Christ? When will we ever not need the reminder that Christ cares for us? Deeply, daily, we always need the reminder that our hope and help come from Christ alone.

  • Jesus cares about saving our souls and He cares about soothing our sorrows.
  • Jesus cares about forgiving our sins and He cares about making our daily provisions.

By the blood of Christ, we are covered, taken under the shield and shelter of our great God — the forgiver of all sins and the giver of all gifts.

Beloved — I’d love to hold space for whatever it is you may be going through right now. Comment below and share where in your life you need (or see) the provision, grace, and covering of Jesus. I would love to encourage you!

 

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