A Promise to Cling to When You’re Afraid

A Promise to Cling to When You’re Afraid

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“They will fight against you but will not overcome you, for I am with you and will rescue you,” declares the Lord.
Jeremiah 1:10 NIV

God calls Jeremiah to be a prophet during a time of upheaval in Israelite history. God says, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.” But Jeremiah is unsure of himself saying, “I do not know how to speak; I am too young.”

Isn’t this how so many of us feel right now as we lead our homes, our churches, and our communities? As we try to facilitate important conversations at our tables and online or make decisions that impact others far and wide? As we try to navigate counseling our children in a complex world, caring for aging parents, or asking God what our purpose is for such a time as this? We are weary of politics and sickness, natural disasters, and human divisions. The news cycle is so disheartening that it can easily lead to heartbreak and hopelessness.

But what does God say? God says to us, “Do not be afraid; I am with you.”

So when what’s before you seems over your head, hold on to this promise: God is with me when I am afraid.

 

 

 

Recipe for Easter Egg Blondies

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March has us on the hunt for special treats! Luckily we have another great recipe from our friend Nancy, who creates the most delicious, beautiful dishes. A new season is on the way, flowers are starting to make an appearance, and celebrating Jesus’s resurrection puts us in the mood for anything that looks like joy. And nothing in the oven looks more like joy than pastel egg-shaped chocolate in a blondie!

Thank you to our friend Nancy C. for putting together this delicious recipe! We hope you try it out and enjoy it with family and friends during the Easter season. Friends, scroll down for the recipe and download a FREE printable recipe card!

Easter Egg Blondies

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 15 min
Bake Time: 30 min

INGREDIENTS

  • 1/2 cup butter, melted
  • 3/4 cup packed light
  • brown sugar
  • 1 large egg
  • 1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 tsp. baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 1 (9-oz.) pkg. Cadbury Mini Eggs, divided (chop 1 cup of the mini eggs to stir in the batter and keep the rest, almost 1/2 cup, unchopped to use for scattering on top)

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Preheat oven to 350˚F. Grease an 8 x 8” baking pan or line with parchment paper; set aside.
  2. In a large or medium-sized bowl, add the melted butter and brown sugar, blending well. Then add the egg and vanilla extract, mixing everything well. Next, add the flour, baking powder, and salt, mixing until all ingredients are combined.
  3. Fold in the 1 cup of chopped mini eggs, mixing until evenly distributed in batter. Add batter, spreading evenly, into prepared baking pan.
  4. Bake at 350˚F for 20 minutes, then remove from oven briefly to scatter and slightly press the remaining mini eggs on top; bake 10 more minutes, until edges are golden and center is set (a toothpick inserted in center should come out clean).
  5. Cool completely in pan, then cut into squares.

Note: An easy way to “chop” the mini eggs is to put them in a zip-top bag and crush them into chunky pieces with a rolling pin.

To get the beautiful and fresh look above, use this set of Tea Towels! Pop leftover egg-shaped chocolates in one of these Grace & Gratitude Dip Bowls, and the blondies would be lovely served on this Grace & Gratitude Blush Medium Pedestal. Find these beautiful pieces and more at Mary & Martha by DaySpring.

 

You Are His Child

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As we get ready for Easter this year, a season of renewal, tap into your inner child and experience the joy in a new and unexpected way.

Remember the empty tomb and the childlike wonder of those who witnessed it — who stood at the entrance of the place where, just hours before, the turning point in history had happened: human feet on holy ground. Hearts filled with the utter delight of God’s love made visible in a way that it had never been before.

This Easter Sunday, fill your heart with His joy in a new way and let it spill out everywhere. Take a lesson from children about feeling the pureness of joy, just as Jesus did.

1. Be humble. Children ask questions. They haven’t yet convinced themselves that they’re self-sufficient beings who should know most everything. If we’ve been following Christ for a while, we’re likely very familiar with the facts about Easter morning. We feel safe knowing the answers and sometimes we let that be enough. But what if we ask God for more this year? Ask Him to nudge us out of our comfort zones into new experiences of His resurrection life? Sure, we can celebrate those cherished traditions, but let’s show up with anticipation, too—trusting Him to do a new thing.

2. Leave room for wonder. One of the surest routes to authentic praise is to sink our roots deep in the wonder of life, as our children do naturally. Genuine gratitude springs from being present in the moment, aware of even the simplest joys. This Easter season, consider revisiting (or beginning) a gratitude journal. The more blessings you discover, the more you will be filled with praise for the One who provided them. As you reflect on the empty tomb, your heart will be worshipful!

3. Share the joy. Our little ones often express their feelings without filters. They want to draw us into their experience so that we can share their excitement. But we grown-ups sometimes forget how wonderful shared joy can be. We assume others wouldn’t understand or won’t be interested in our experience. However, it is very likely there are people in our lives right now who desperately need a renewed sense of hope.

As you celebrate the resurrection this year, allow that joy to spill over. Whatever it looks like for you, share the joy you’ve found in Christ with those around you — not because you have to, but because you just can’t help yourself!

So let us come to Him this Easter as His children, with open hearts and willing hands, to love and serve in whatever way He leads us. As we envision the empty tomb and celebrate that eternal freedom we have been given, let’s not keep this joy to ourselves. Let’s be a part of bringing His Kingdom here, today — transforming this world with His healing love, one precious heart at a time.

He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Matthew 18:2-3 NIV

This devotion is by Paige DeRuyscher as featured in Simply Jesus: The Hope of Easter.

DaySpring has a special keepsake magazine called Simply Jesus: The Hope of Easter, and we think you’ll love it!

In this keepsake magazine, you will find a collection of powerful Scriptures, inspiring prayers, and heartfelt articles, as we hope to help you deepen your faith during this sacred season and help your family celebrate Easter together in new and exciting ways. Pick up your copy of Simply Jesus: The Hope of Easter wherever magazines are sold and at DaySpring.com. We hope to bring you inspiration in the form of personal stories and inspirational articles, the sharing of traditions, celebrating with family, observing Lent, and keeping the death and resurrection of Christ at the center of it all. With each turn of the page, may you be filled with the spark of hope and joy that Easter promises. 

This article is just one of many featured in Simply Jesus: The Hope of Easter, 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 her to give 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 3/11/24 at 11:59 pm central. 

 

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

How You Can *Really* Help Someone with a Terminal Diagnosis

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There are moments in life you never forget. I’ll never forget when my sister called to tell me an MRI to check on a recurring cyst near her ear had revealed a suspicious brain mass instead. When our call ended, I wailed, desperately hoping that everything she and my brother-in-law just told me was some kind of dreadful mistake. But a few weeks later, an invasive biopsy confirmed brain cancer.

Words and phrases like “inoperable,” “incurable,” and “cut your life short” fueled a waking nightmare, and life became a runaway train from which there was no escape. As much as it was a horror for me, I could only imagine her terror of living it.

We’re close in the way sisters can be, stitched even tighter from losing our mom when we were way too little to hold a grief that big. Lora took her big-sister responsibility seriously and appointed herself boss of me. Ever the compliant little sister, I let her.

She’s always been my biggest cheerleader, and I cried off and on for weeks following her diagnosis. Still, the intensity and relentlessness of my pain surprised me, until it finally occurred to me that I had known and loved Lora longer than anyone else in my life. When someone sees, knows, and loves you no matter what, it’s a beautiful reflection of how God sees, knows, and loves you without condition.

The utter shock of a diagnosis like this never quite goes away. It changes you and everyone close to you. One of the most exasperating things Lora would say as she adjusted to her new reality was, “You don’t understand. People don’t get it.” But, how could anyone fully understand something they had never experienced? She was right. Regardless, I tried, begging God to provide understanding.

Lora is over a year into her diagnosis now, and I love how her husband, Jody, describes this season: Golden.

Amidst all the symptoms of the disease, consequences from testing and treatment, and unexpected setbacks, beauty is distilled in moments. You finally grasp the preciousness of time when you don’t have as much as you thought. And, when so much is out of your control, you gain a sense of urgency and agency over the things you can control.

Recently in a conversation with Lora and Jody, they mentioned the awkward position they’ve repeatedly found themselves in with people wanting to help. What is offered isn’t what they need, and they don’t know how to express this for fear of sounding ungrateful. Well-meaning friends make assumptions about what is helpful. Most people (including me!) offer food, but it has to be for when it fits their schedule. What we fail to consider is how full the person’s refrigerator may already be, how small their appetite is from treatment or sickness, how our timing isn’t aligned with their existing plans, and how guilty or unappreciative the person feels from having to throw out excess food they simply can’t eat. Even if we ask open-ended questions about how to help, it’s awkward for the person to express what they really could use.

Through my sister’s eyes, I see how serving well begins with asking for suggestions, listening carefully, and getting creative by anticipating all sorts of needs. Serving well focuses on others and doesn’t assume that what expresses love to me is what’s best in every instance.

Ephesians 5:1-2 (ESV) tells us to be imitators of God and to “walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us.” Loving and serving others sacrificially is a beautiful imitation of Jesus.

When I realized there were better ways to help others going through similar circumstances, I asked my sister, brother-in-law, and friends for suggestions. Here are some of their ideas for helping someone with a terminal diagnosis:

  • Be diligent in prayer. It means more than you know to the people for whom you’re interceding.
  • Give gift cards. Restaurant gift cards are always nice, and general spending cards allow the person total flexibility.
  • Short visits. I used to think it would communicate “I don’t care” if I didn’t stay a long while, but I’ve learned “less is more.” Be sensitive. The person who’s sick is sick, and your brief visit (15 – 30 minutes) is a gift!
  • Send short texts without expecting replies. For example, “Keep smiling! No need to reply, I just wanted you to know I’m praying for you.”
  • If you send plants, make sure they’re low maintenance.
  • Give gas cards to out-of-town young adult children. The unexpected, added expense of travel impacts their budget and shouldn’t limit how often they return home. Offer to take care of their pet or cover boarding, too.
  • Be sincere and sensitive with words and touch (hugging could be painful) and it’s okay not to speak much at all. No one knows what to say when someone is battling a difficult diagnosis, so embrace the awkwardness.
  • Make space for tears and laughter. Both are good medicine.
  • Send greeting cards from time to time. They usually arrive exactly when they’re needed.
  • Send cash for cleaning, DoorDash, groceries, or whatever. Don’t ask, just give.
  • Don’t try to “save” the person in the room. Avoid religious clichés.
  • Don’t feel like you have to bring anything on a visit other than your presence. Even if you don’t get to see the person, maybe you were meant to see the caregiver.
  • Speaking of caregivers, remember them, too. They’re sad, exhausted, and weary, and your care, encouragement, and thoughtfulness are life-giving.
  • Gather friends to take care of the yard or housework. Show up with tools/supplies in hand.

We’d love to hear your thoughts and suggestions as well. How have you ministered to others, or what do you wish people knew if you’re going through something like this?

 

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

When You Think God Is Being Silent

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“I don’t hear well, so you are going to have to shout,” he said as he slowly followed behind me, pushing his walker.

I turned around with a smile to respond, “I have two kids, I am used to yelling!”

We walked into the examination room and he sat down in the chair with his torso bent forward and his head hanging down. His wife sat next to me and shared about his recent symptoms that brought him to my physical therapy clinic.

I put my laptop on the desk and scooted my stool close to him. “Can you kick your right leg out?” He didn’t even look up, so I repeated myself louder as I tapped on his right thigh gently.

He looked up. “What do you want me to do?” I repeated my instruction as I kicked my leg out to show him exactly what I wanted. He watched me and then shook his head, “I can’t understand. I’m sorry!”

His wife who was sitting on the other side of the room said, “Hon, she wants you to kick that right leg out” and he immediately did it. The rest of the examination went the same way. What was interesting is that she never leaned in or raised her voice, yet he heard her clearly. I was inches away from him, shouting, but he couldn’t hear me.

They had been married for over 50 years; he knew her voice. Even when old age deafened him to all the noise of the world, it couldn’t silence the voice of his lover. He had heard her voice in all tones and at all volumes, over all the years. It was as familiar to him as his own voice, so she didn’t need to yell. Her whisper was sufficient.

I have been a believer for over 25 years and I have learned, for the most part, to discern the voice of Jesus. But last year was perhaps one of the most challenging seasons of my life and I felt as if God was silent. I could feel Him with me, using me to minister to strangers at conferences as I would speak, and even heal my own body miraculously as I prayed. But what was strange to me is that in the one area I was desperate to hear His direction and waited for His provision, He seemed so silent.

Now as I stand in a new year and look back, I see that I was only aware of God in the obvious and big moments and miracles. But He was training me to hear His whispers. He was teaching me like He taught the prophet Elijah: sometimes God shows up in the mighty winds, earthquakes, and fires, but He can also show up in the gentle whispers too (1 Kings 19:11-13). Perhaps this was the moment that Elijah felt the lowest, and God came in the quietest — as an intimate friend with a whisper. God showed Elijah that He is powerful but He is also personal.

I have learned that often what we perceive as the silence of God is actually His still small voice, an intimate whisper.

Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27 ESV).

There is a level of intimacy you reach in some relationships where a whisper or a wink is enough. You are connected so deeply that your communication style changes. You don’t have to be physically close in proximity to sense the other person’s emotions. You know them as much as you know yourself.

Jesus invites us to this kind of intimate relationship, where we know His heart and He knows ours.

He knows our sighs and frustrations.
He knows the fear and anxiety that is plaguing us.
He knows our dreams and our plans for our children.
He knows our doubts and desire to believe.

Friend, if you are in a season where you think God is silent I want to encourage you with this thought: God may not be yelling; He could be whispering. Don’t let the struggles of this life steal the voice of Love. You haven’t lost your ability to hear Him well, you may have just entered a new level of intimacy with God. God is inviting you to know Him, not simply in the big moments but in the seasons of quiet when life is hard. He wants you to know that He is powerful and He is personal. Listen for His sweet, intimate whispers today.

 

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

 

Think Right, Talk Right, See Right

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“Be careful how you think; your life is shaped by your thoughts.”
Proverbs 4:23 GNT

Have you ever assumed something and eventually realized you were way off? Yup, same here. I’ll always regret the time when I made fun of my friends for loving boba tea. To me, without ever trying it, I knew it was disgusting. “Have fun drinking your boobie tea,” I’d tell them. “Goodness gracious, those little balls on the bottom look like mini rabbit turds,” I joked. That is, until one brave day, I decided to try it—and oh my heavens, my life changed. After tasting its smoothie goodness with a side of tapioca goodness, I realized that my assumptions about boba tea were completely wrong. If I could apologize to a drink, I absolutely would. But I couldn’t, so I just apologized to my friends.

Because my thought process was off, it led to my words being off, which led to the way I perceived things to be off. Come to think of it, this happens to us quite a bit in life. When we think wrongly about something, we will speak wrongly about it, and the way we see it becomes very misaligned. This goes for our interactions with people, our circumstances, and even our relationship with God.

Let’s break it down:

Think Right: We must guard our hearts, first, by thinking right. When our minds are renewed, we think more like Jesus, which prevents us from believing lies. Our character is, mainly, defined by our thoughts.

Talk Right: The things we speak are direct correlations to what is going on in our hearts. Whatever our hearts are dwelling on will eventually become vocalized. Because the human mind is fickle, it is a dangerous thing to mistake “speaking without thought” for “speaking the truth.” Therefore, examine your thoughts and your heart above all else before using your words in any situation.

See Right: When we think the way Jesus thinks and talk the way Jesus talks, we will see things the way Jesus sees. This causes healing instead of division and peace instead of turmoil. If your thoughts, words, and perceptions are steadfast, God will keep your life in perfect peace.

God, renew my mind, my words, and my perceptions today. I want my character to be aligned with Yours. Amen.

—

Goodness Gracious: 90 Unfiltered Devotions for This Sometimes-Too-Serious Life, by Hannah Crews, is a 90-day devotional to help readers laugh, gain new perspectives, and tap into the joy God gives. 

Sometimes the light of Christ in our life is a flickering candle instead of a burning blaze. We get bogged down by distractions, challenges, the daily grind, and sometimes serious issues. This devotional is a fun, honest take on life’s situations — and its silliness. Readers of Goodness Gracious will be encouraged to dust themselves off, throw open the shades, and let the joy of the Lord overflow from their hearts and into the world. They’ll laugh, reflect, and be inspired by the refreshing authenticity of author Hannah Crews as they experience a renewal of their joy in Christ.

Goodness Gracious is far more than just a cute devotional book designed to let you check off your “I spent time with Jesus today” box. It’s a beautifully practical and hilarious tool that Hannah has crafted to help us draw near to Christ on the brightest of days, the darkest of nights, the mundane “meh” moments, and even the downright “blah” days. Her writing has a remarkable way of making you feel seen and understood, all while gently challenging you to rise up. You will laugh, cry, and grow through every single page. And by the end, you will be equipped to genuinely walk in the joy of the Lord, no matter what you might be walking through.

We know Goodness Gracious will be a gift in your life or the life of someone you love.

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 Hannah about how God uses even the hardest parts of our stories to draw us to Him and give us His JOY. Don’t miss it!

 

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

*Giveaway open until 11:59 pm on 3/10/24 to US addresses only. Winners will be contacted via email.

You’ve Got God, and God Will See You Through

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“What am I going to do now?”

It was the question I didn’t want to be asking myself.

Sitting in a parking lot with my seatbelt still strapped tight across my chest, I could feel the grief rippling across my chest in waves. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white as I let the tears fall.

I received some bad news that afternoon. It was the kind of news that loomed over my head like an impending doom. In a way, pieces of my life, pieces that I had held dear, had been ripped from me and I knew things were never going to be the same again.

My kids sat confused in the backseat. But there were no words. I had no idea how to explain any of what was happening to them (they’re still quite young).

How does one put loss into words, anyway?

Loss is hard enough, but not knowing who to talk to or how to communicate what you’re going through just adds another layer of struggle and pain.

I think this is particularly true for us as women.

We have so much that we’re shouldering – we’re running the home front, doing work on the side or full time, prepping meals, driving kids to school and activities, caring for aging parents, supporting our friends… and sometimes, there’s no space in all the busyness to just let the grief of our own losses have a space to breathe.

So, all of a sudden, when you least expect it, the grief comes bursting out, uncontrollably — like during car rides and in empty parking lots. The grief hits you like a bag of bricks and you have no idea how to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward.

It’s been a few years since that dark day in the parking lot, and I still think about the moment often.

I wish I could somehow transport myself into that car and hug my younger self and tell her, “God’s got you. You’re going to be OK.”

I don’t mean that in an insincere way.

Life was really hard for a while.

As many of us know firsthand, loss isn’t linear. That first wave of grief leads to many more ripples of pain, loneliness, and heartache. There were days I didn’t want to function; days where I could barely get out of bed because I didn’t know what my future held.

But by God’s grace, I survived. God carried me through my darkest days and fought for me when I didn’t have the strength to fight for myself. God brought friends into my life to speak biblical truths over me. God opened new doors and new opportunities. He brought me mentors and coaches to help me find my joy again.

If you look at my life now, you might not have any idea that a few years ago I went through a really dark period. If you look at my life now, you might only see stability and joy.

But here’s the truth: success in our lives is often directly born out of our earlier struggles.

God did not abandon me in my fallow season. Instead, He planted seeds of new life that in time bore healthy fruit. The same is true for you.

I don’t know what you’re personally going through. I don’t know what heartache is keeping you up at night, or what sorrows are weighing so heavily on your soul that you can’t find the strength to get out of bed. But God does, and God will never abandon you in your time of grief.

Isaiah 41:13 (NIV) tells us, “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”

I don’t think I would have made it this far without the comforting right hand of God.

When you feel completely alone in this world, turn to God’s Word for comfort.

When the tears won’t stop, turn to God to dry your tears.

When you feel like you’ve utterly hit rock bottom, turn to God for hope.

He’s there with you, in the fallow season, whispering in your ear, “I’ve got you. You’re going to be OK.”

This might not feel like encouragement right now, but someday you’ll look back on what you’re going through and see how God sustained you. Someday, you’ll look back on this dark period in your life and smile, knowing how far you’ve come and the new strength you’ve found. Someday, the grief and the pain will be a distant memory, and you’ll feel whole again.

I promise you that day is coming.

Because you’ve got God, and God will see you through.

After six beautiful years as an (in)courage contributor, today marks Michelle’s final post. We are so grateful for her presence and voice in this space, and we are cheering her on in all that the Lord has for her ahead. Shalom. 

 

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

Lord, Help Us to Trust You

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

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

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

How can we pray for you?

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

 

 

An Invitation to the Last Supper

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For years, I’d confess and re-confess past sins in prayer.

I felt lonely with old secrets, my pillow haunted by foolish things I did or said ten years prior. I reviewed my failures like a rolodex while I scrubbed dishes or washed my hair. Deep down, I felt unlikeable. I dreamed of feeling beautiful, known and cherished. But I allowed my past mistakes to bar me from believing that I was already all these things and more. So, I buried my longings and pressed on.  

In 2021, my Bible reading plan brought me to the Last Supper. I’d read the passage before . . . but, this time, I sensed God inviting me to take a closer look at the story of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet.  

I knew the disciples walked to dinner in sandals on dusty, dung-dotted streets. Surely, their dirty feet kept them from fully relaxing at the table with Jesus and with one another. As I pondered this, it prompted me to think of all the ways my shame keeps me from resting with God and friends.

When Jesus washed his friends’ feet, He did not say, “Let’s talk about this dirty water.” He didn’t make the dirt the centerpiece on the table; He didn’t lecture them about it. No. He probably dumped the dirty water out the window! That done, He could talk with them about all the other things that He was so eager to share with them.  

During supper, Jesus encouraged the disciples — He told them secrets, made incredible promises, gave them instructions, comforted them and simply dined with them. He did all of this because He loved them. The first thing He said when He sat down with his friends was, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you.” In Greek, this can literally be translated to, “I have been longing with longing to eat this Passover with you.”

As I opened my journal, I sensed Jesus saying the same to me. I wrote:

“Heather, I have been longing with longing to spend this time with you, to encourage you and teach you, to tell you my secrets and simply be with you, because I love you.”

I imagined sitting at a lunch table with Jesus and finally embracing Him as the one who formed my inward parts, the one who knows my anxious thoughts. I saw Him for who He’s always been and how He chose my gifts and talents, seeing beyond all my past sins and future endeavors. I pictured Him looking kindly into my face, eager to forgive all and encourage my longing heart. As I thought about all these things, I came to find that this was not a scary table to sit at — it was a no-defenses, restful place to sit . . . being fully known and fully loved by the God of the universe.  

I knew there were depths I had not plumbed with God and levels I had not yet experienced in community, all because I was consumed with staring at my dirty water basin instead of letting Jesus dump it out. My sin kept me from believing in the grace God had already graciously gifted me. So in my journal, I made a bullet point list of the sins and mistakes that still felt caked on me. As I wrote, the Holy Spirit brought to my mind many things I carried shame about. I repented of the fresh ones and sloughed off the old ones, many from childhood. Then, once they were all in front of me like a muddy water basin, I pictured Jesus dumping them down the gutter! As they went, I crossed them off my list, one at a time and thanking God.

Immediately, I felt a free-spiritedness and a soul-deep rest — a rest that I had not felt in so long and that has not gone away since.  

Maybe shame keeps you from leaning in at the table, too? That’s a ploy of the enemy, you know? Satan tempts us to sin, then drags us down, accusing us and terrorizing us with guilt. He wields shame to hold us back from the union with God that Christ offers.

But, Jesus is longing with longing to be very near you. Your whole lifelong He has been sitting at the cafeteria lunch table, leaning forward on His elbows, enamored with you. He wants to tilt your chin up and say, “You are beautiful. I love what you do. I really like you.” He wants to encourage you and comfort you and teach you and tell you His secrets. 

So, read Luke 22:7-15 and John 13:1-17 and imagine yourself reclining at the table. Invite Jesus with you as you make a list of the things you carry shame about. Then, watch Him wash them off . . . one at a time.

Digging Out When You Feel Buried

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I opened the blinds in my family room to see more than a foot of fresh snow covering the landscape outside our windows. Large, wet flakes continued falling thick and fast, determined to blanket everything.

It took my breath, the beauty of it.

Of course, seconds later, reality dampened my wonder. That blanket of twelve-inch snow would need to be removed one shovel-full at a time before the day’s end, including our driveway, front walkway, and back patio. It would be no easy feat, requiring an hour or two of back-breaking labor.

Even so, I felt the beauty drawing me outside. It needed to be experienced, not just witnessed.

After lacing up my snow boots, digging out my beanie and gloves, and slipping into my winter coat, I walked out the back door and got to work. Although the temperature hovered around the freezing mark, I didn’t feel cold. Instead, I felt inspired, energized, and in awe. It wasn’t easy work, as the snow was dense and heavy, but while I cleared the back patio, my husband tackled our very long driveway. And the combination of beauty and togetherness made the chore enjoyable.

Less than an hour later, I moved to the front walkway. Although tired and thoroughly drenched from the ongoing snowfall, I still savored being outdoors in the middle of it all. Until halfway through when another family member joined my husband and me in our snow-removal efforts. Without disclosing identities, I can tell you this:

They did not want to be shoveling snow. And they wanted to be sure I knew about it.

“This is so dumb.”

“Ugh, the snow is so heavy!”

“How long do I have to be out here?”

“I’m cold.”

“My hands hurt.”

“My back hurts.”

“Can I go in now?”

With each shovelful, I heard another complaint. To be honest, they weren’t wrong. The snow was heavy. The air was cold. Scoop, complain, scoop, whine. Do you know what happened?

With each new complaint, my fellow shoveler grew less effective at snow removal. It was as if their words impacted their ability to do the work. It was taking them twice as long to do half the work. It appeared speech impacted strength.

But do you know what else I noticed? Their words started to impact my strength, too. I grew more weary, more cold, and more defeated. What had been a joy became a painful drudgery. What had once held beauty became nothing but a burden.

“From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled;
with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied.

The tongue has the power of life and death,
and those who love it will eat its fruit.”
Proverbs 18:20-21 NIV

Before you think I’m picking on one of my family members, I could provide multiple examples in which I played the complaining character. I’m a woman of many words, too many words sometimes. It’s not uncommon for me to say exactly what I think and feel at any given minute, even if it isn’t helpful.

But on the day of that snowstorm, I learned two eye-opening (and heart-humbling) lessons:

  1. Words hold the power of life and death for the person who says them. 
  2. Words hold the power of life and death for the person who hears them.

Our words impact our ability to do hard things. And our words impact the ability of other people to do hard things. Yes, there are moments when we must speak the truth about the hard thing out loud. I’m afraid. This is hard. My heart aches. But if complaints dominate our conversation, the hard thing becomes the only thing. And any power we might gain from the Spirit within us gets swallowed up by a lesser voice.

Yes, our stories are heavy and overwhelming. Yes, at times we feel cold and alone. That’s the truth. But it isn’t the only truth. There is a bigger Truth, a stronger Truth, one that can help us dig out of any storm:

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life.'” (John 14:6 NIV)

“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” (John 14:18 NIV)

“Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20 NIV)

Now that’s a good word. Let’s make sure those are the words that get the most airtime. No matter the size of the storm.

 

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

God of the Harbor

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I live in New England near America’s oldest seaport. It’s a city known for venturing out to sea, and the local high school mascot is the Fishermen. When the winds pick up, the causeway floods as the tide rises and we ride it out, taking detours on the flooded roads and then cleaning up what we can. This area is at the mercy of the ocean air and saltiness that corrodes. But perhaps one of the most striking features of our corner of New England is the Fisherman’s Memorial.

It is a copper statue that has turned green over the years and depicts a Gloucester fisherman with his hands on the steering wheel of a ship. He looks with pensive eyes out over the harbor, determined and focused.

When I stand in front of the Fisherman’s Memorial, I feel the intensity as I hear the waves crashing against the walls. When the king tide comes in, the water floods over the edge, seaweed wrapping around the railings that keep passersby from falling into the waves. The Gloucester fisherman stands in front of plaques with thousands of names that date back to the 1600s. Over 10,000 men have died at sea after leaving Gloucester. In fact, in one stretch, from 1860-1906, a staggering 660 ships sank.

This is a town that understands the weight of losing to the sea.

Most famously in recent history, the Andrea Gail, an American commercial fishing vessel, was lost in 1991 during a Nor’Easter we called The Perfect Storm. A film was made that beautifully captured the area, reminding us of the heart of this industry that keeps a community afloat.

When I am driving past, I almost always stop for the memorial. I hop out of my car and feel the wind on my cheeks, turning them red. I trace my finger along the names on the memorial, wondering who they were and what they cared for most. As I turn back to face the fisherman, I look down at the base of his footing where a simple phrase is written: THEY THAT GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS.

It took me an embarrassing amount of time to figure out that this was a reference to Psalm 107. In this passage, various situations of need are mentioned and then the people cry out to God and are met with his help.

I wonder about the irony of living in a largely non-Christian environment that is represented by a statue that is based on our need for the divine. I suppose it anchors in me a hope that there is a deep, human need to cry out in moments of distress. To call to God when it feels like we’re drowning. To recognize our helplessness when the tide rises and the swells get too high.

In these seaside towns, we feel the weight of how very out of control we are. When the storms hit, we are at the mercy of the wind and water. When the temperatures drop, we watch it all freeze and crack. When the skies go red in the morning, we know the shift might not be in our favor.

Living in a community that is tied to the world around us reminds me that God is ever-present, ready to enter into the needs we have. We can call out to God — not only in our distress but in our day-to-day. Like those who go down to the sea in ships, who venture out of the safe harbor onto the open ocean where the safety of land is nowhere to be seen, there is a deep reliance in our blood. A reliance that watches the sky and listens to the wind, marveling at how intense God’s power is.

You may be landlocked, but the God of the sea is still your God.

You may have clear skies, but the God of stormy weather is still your God.

You may be in an uncomfortable season, but the God of comfort and hope is still your God.

Seasons come and go. Storms arrive and pass. What is today may not be tomorrow. But by God’s grace, like those who go down to the sea in ships, we will all arrive at the Harbor we’re hoping for.

 

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

How to Find Strength in Surrender

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“I DO IT!”

Toddlers love declaring their newfound independence as they navigate the world. It’s a refrain heard countless times in households of young children everywhere, a small glimpse into the journey of self-discovery we all embark upon.

I’ll admit, I’ve caught myself echoing that sentiment more times than I can count – as an adult navigating the twists and turns of life. Something is appealing about the idea of doing things on our terms and proving our capabilities to the world.

But if I’m honest, my insistence on self-reliance has led me astray more than once.

I vividly recall a moment of reckoning with my stubborn insistence on doing it myself amidst the whirlwind of giving birth. Exhausted yet exhilarated, I found myself determined to handle anything motherhood threw my way.

After 24 hours of labor, I gazed in awe at the fresh new life I held in my arms. The nurses gently tapped me on my shoulder, telling me it was time to move from the delivery room to my private room. I scoffed at the wheelchair brought in by the nurses, happy to prove that I was strong enough to walk on my own.

But as I stood on trembling legs, reality came crashing down.

I didn’t shout, “I DO IT!” like my toddler son with the “New Big Brother” t-shirt at home did. But my actions said the same thing when I resolved to prove that I was capable and in control.

My knees buckled beneath me.

I couldn’t do it.

I needed someone to catch me. To offer support when my strength faltered.

That newborn is turning eleven soon. And as the years go by, I’m slowly embracing the profound (and sometimes painful) beauty of surrender — recognizing that true strength lies not in my own wobbly or wonderful abilities but in the unwavering promise that God will work within me and around me.

It’s a lesson that echoes throughout the pages of Scripture. Take the story of Abraham — a man whose faith defied logic and reason and who chose to hope against hope in the face of impossibility.

Romans 4:7-18 tells us that Abraham’s hope wasn’t rooted in his accomplishments but in God’s promise. Abraham’s example challenges us to relinquish our stubborn self-reliance and embrace the transformative power of divine grace.

It’s a perspective that challenges our stubborn self-reliance, inviting us to shift our focus from our strength (or lack thereof) and embrace the transformative power of God’s grace. 

What if we dared to replace our insistence on self-sufficiency with stubborn hope? 

What if we opened ourselves up to the infinite possibilities that lie in store when we place our hope outside of ourselves?

When we stop hinging our worth based on what we can (or can’t) do and instead place our hope in who God is, we might just discover that we don’t find true strength in our ability to go it alone but in our willingness to surrender to a grace greater than ourselves.

God didn’t work in Abraham’s life because Abraham had proven himself perfect and capable, solid and without need for help. Perhaps God worked in Abraham’s life specifically because it didn’t make sense – because God does what God does with open arms that invite us in.

And that is grace.

Imagine waking up in the morning and embracing a reality where your worth isn’t hinged on what you can (or can’t) do but on who God is — a life where you find solace in the comforting embrace of a loving Creator who journeys alongside you in every twist and turn of the journey, catching you and welcoming you into a bigger story with open arms.

Imagine a life where your “I DO IT!” is replaced with the loving whisper of God saying, “I will do it alongside you.”

When doubt creeps in and you need help holding onto hope like Abraham, may you find comfort in this simple prayer from Every Season Sacred:

“God of grace and mercy, help me to remember that I don’t have to toil, strive, or work for Your love — that You already call me beloved. Remind me that my identity is in You, not how much I can accomplish. Amen.”

As you surrender to the gentle rhythm of divine grace, may you uncover a strength that surpasses all understanding, born not of your efforts but of your hope against hope in the One who holds us with tenderness. Who lavishes grace that has nothing to do with what we can or can’t do and everything to do with God’s great compassion and desire to be with us.

As you navigate the complexities of life, may you find the courage to set aside your “I DO IT!” mentality and embrace the beauty of resting in the One who co-creates alongside you.

 

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

How Are You Really Doing with the “Other Stuff”?

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A few weeks ago, I got sick with a fever that wouldn’t go away. On one of the worst nights of my sickness, I slipped away to the couch, so that my tossing and turning wouldn’t wake up my husband.

I tried ibuprofen. I tried Tylenol. I lit a fire in the fireplace. I tried cough drops and hot tea. And finally, the very last thing I tried was prayer.

I am not proud to say that prayer was my last line of offense.

I know I’m not alone in this. Sometimes, we don’t pray because we overestimate our self-sufficiency. Other times, we undervalue God’s concern to tend to the little things in our lives.

It goes like this:

We tend to grade matters by their seeming significance. Grade-A Matters are things like war, injustice, kids with cancer, and failing marriages. Those things are important and deserve our attention with prayer. But the truth is, even when the world at large is suffering, we’ve all got something going on – right this very second. And it all matters to God, even the things you think are Grade-D Matters.

Know this: God’s hands are large enough to hold all the Grade-D Matters – the late-night fevers, your concerns over your kids’ grades, that plumbing problem in the basement, or the fact that your friend hasn’t returned your texts.

So I have a question for you: How are you really doing right now with “the other stuff” going on in your life, the Grade-D Matters?

When something big happens in our world or our community, we tend to minimize “the other stuff.” We don’t want to burden our friends, or God, by letting them know what else hurts right now.

I’ve said it before, but there have been times in my life when I’ve been reluctant to share with my Bible study girls about an emotional struggle because someone else was just diagnosed with cancer. I categorized my pain as Grade-D, and hers as Grade-A.

I’ll tell myself things like, “I shouldn’t be this sad or worried. It could be worse.”

It’s also possible that you’ve been the victim of the “my life is harder than yours” game. It happens when you share your hard, but according to someone else, it isn’t hard enough compared to what they’re going through.

We do ourselves a disservice as sisters when we track each other’s pain along a scale, as if it can be easily categorized along one of those smiley-face charts on a doctor’s office wall.

Here’s the thing: God doesn’t stop caring about your “other stuff” just because other people, this nation, and this world are walking through really big trials. Hard things in other people’s lives do not negate the pain you are carrying personally:

With your finances.
With your baby’s erratic sleep schedule.
With your anxiety.
With the disagreement you had with your dad.
With the pressure of those deadlines.
With your ANYTHING.

Recently, I read Paul’s second letter to his buddy Timothy. He spends most of the letter writing about the big stuff: godlessness in the last days, suffering for the gospel, sound preaching. And then, toward the end, he gives Timothy a final instruction: “Bring the cloak that I left… also the books, and above all the parchments” (2 Timothy 4:13, ESV).

It’s the cloak that gets me.

At this point in the biblical narrative, Paul was an older fellow getting close to dying while locked up in a cold prison — and his only coat was many miles away.

I don’t know why that bit about the cloak is in there, but I do believe that Scripture is God-breathed, and that every word is there for a reason — even the hardest and weirdest parts of the Bible. Every word has something to teach us about God or ourselves.

I wonder if that tiny sentence about the cloak is one way that God is letting us know that the little things matter. Little things like coats, new tires for your car, your class schedule, your job, and a fever that won’t let up.

God is big enough to care about the little things.

Nothing is too big for our Lord. And nothing is too small either.

 

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Truth for Your Heart When It Feels Like Your Life Is Falling Apart

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I used to write songs as a way of soothing my soul’s sorrow. I would write the words my heart needed to hear, the words that I hoped God would say if He were sitting across from me at a café, drinking His coffee or whatever herbal tea He likes best. But, these days, writing songs doesn’t come easy. My kids call me constantly, my voice isn’t as strong as it used to be, dreams are falling apart, and life shouts demands with its to-dos and to-bes.

In this waiting, in this season of silence and seeking and shattering, it feels like everything is slowly falling apart. The routines and structures that once held me together have altogether come undone. Direction disorients and vision evades me. 

Life, as I know it, is changing. And rightfully so. My children are growing — they are hungry for food and desperate to learn more, live more. My body is broken and needs new ways of holding all that I am and healing. Our house, the borrowed walls that we call home, is two sizes too small to carry the developing story that my family is becoming.

We spin through the days bursting out of the seams, spilling wild and wide out of the containers that once held us. And it is messy, and there are no baskets or tidy corners to keep things as they should be, and we are in this limbo, this thin in-between, and we are so desperate to hear the Spirit say that all of this change is good.

That everything and everyone will be okay.

All I want for this thin in-between, this space of figuring things out, is to know that I am not failing my kids. I desperately want to know and believe that the things dying off are not causing destruction, that God is in all of this — every newly paved path and lost dream.

I abide, seeking out a single word, a single scripture verse to cling to. But then, a familiar melody comes to mind. A simple refrain that I wrote years back:

When you fall apart, you are falling into grace,
Can’t you see, how He holds us up, how He holds us into place?

The lyrics linger in my mind, and I try to think back to when and why I wrote this song. Try as I may, I cannot recall the season of life that I was in. However, this I can recall: it really is true. God holds us up, and He also holds us into place. He does this, even when all that we know shatters in and around us. Even while we are falling apart, we are falling into grace. Even while life is crumbling in ways that we cannot comprehend or control, His love for us still proves to be all that we need.

He holds us when we are in the deepest abyss where it is dark and the path before us is unknown and unseen. He holds us when we are afraid and unsure of where our next paycheck will come from. There is nothing too broken, nothing too beyond fixing for His hands. There isn’t a puzzle that cannot be put back together in and through His power. There is nothing too heavy for His heart; there is nothing too hard for Him to work out with His holy plan.

There is no depth too deep, no spiraling or shattering that will separate us from His loving hands. There is no circumstance too confusing, no pantry that He cannot fill with His provision, no broken body that He does not see, no song He cannot sustain with grace. . . through community, through His word, through thanksgiving, through miracles, through mundane moments, through His holy hands at work in and through our lives.

This is one song we can always be sure to sing — He will hold us up and He will hold our lives into place. No matter what shatters, no matter what surrounds us, He is good and He will ever guide us into His goodness.

 

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Step into the Future Knowing This

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Moses said to the Lord, “Look, you have told me, ‘Lead this people up,’ but you have not let me know whom you will send with me. You said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found favor with me.’ Now if I have indeed found favor with you, please teach me your ways, and I will know you, so that I may find favor with you. Now consider that this nation is your people.”

And he replied, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”
Exodus 33:12-14 CSB

God tasks Moses with leading the people of Isreal out of Egypt where they were slaves and into the Promised Land where they will flourish. But Moses has all kinds of reasons why he isn’t the guy for the job. He’s not an eloquent speaker. He hasn’t assembled a strong leadership team. He doesn’t know where he will go or if the people will even want to follow.

But most of all, Moses is concerned about being alone. He knows the job is too much for him and he wants assurance that God will provide some help.

And how does God respond? “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”

What in your life today feels too much, too overwhelming for you?

Where do you feel called but underequipped?

Where are you afraid, overworked, or discouraged?

Tell God how you feel. Tell Him all about your impossible situation.

Then ask HIM to tell YOU all about your impossible situation.

God’s perspective will always trump our fears. His presence will always supersede our limitations. 

We can rest in Him.

 

 

The Fear of the Lord Is the Beginning of Freedom

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For three and a half months I felt like a balloon had swelled in my belly. Sometimes, sharp jolts would move through my colon and fold me over, my breath catching in my throat and my eyes widening in pain. It was the dead of summer in California’s Central Valley where temps often reach well over 105 degrees . . . and I couldn’t even put on a swimsuit, let alone button my jeans. 

Then finally, it had a name: Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS). 

If you’ve ever experienced a digestive disorder like IBS, then you know it knocks the breath right out of you. When I’m in a season where I’m experiencing an IBS flare (like I was for those three and a half months), it can be all I think about: the planning around meals, the invitations to lunch or dinner with friends, the sudden need to go to the bathroom, or taking triple the time to figure out what to wear because I can’t fit into anything. 

Sometimes, I hear whispers in my heart telling me how much I hate my body, and it takes the breath right out of me. . .

“What do I need to do? How do I manage this?” I desperately asked my doctor after she delivered the diagnosis.  

“You need to limit the amount of stress in your life,” she replied.  

I was at a loss. I thought I’d done everything right — I was in therapy, I’d set the appropriate relational boundaries, I started doing Pilates and breath work, I nourished my body, removed the irritating foods, watched my caffeine intake, prayed, read my Bible, and went to church.  

What else was I supposed to do? 

“That means I’ll have to quit my job.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could even think about them.  

Quit my job? But my job’s not stressful. And where else can I go? This is all I know. 

It was a fight with denial and pride to realize the effect my job was having on my body. I’m a chronic minimizer and a lifelong church kid. I learned that we’re to “crucify our flesh” and make our bodies our slaves for the sake of our cause.  

But it wasn’t true that my job wasn’t stressful. I drove home in tears, knowing in my gut that the time to leave this job was coming. After the IBS diagnosis, I heard author Annie F. Downs say on her Instagram that she’d asked God to remove everything that was “sick or secret” from her life. Surprise and a sob welled up in my throat as I listened. 

Me too, God. Please, I want everything sick and secret out of my life.  

I was done dealing with this sick body and tired of minimizing myself. I wanted the truth, and I wanted freedom. 

Mercifully, the Lord showed me the truth very quickly. I finally realized the environment I worked in was growing increasingly hostile. In time, the stress and anxiety in my gut would move to my chest, giving me chest pains every day I went to work for weeks on end. I found myself disassociating from my body just to get through the day, staring at my computer like a deer in headlights and unable to follow along in a conversation.  

But did I leave? No.  

I’ll leave as soon as I find another job, I promised myself and God.  

One month went by. Then two. Then three. Still, no job. And still, I was sick. Then, one day, in the middle of all of this, I read Psalm 147:10-11, and it came alive before me: 

“He is not impressed by the strength of a horse; he does not value the power of a warrior. The Lord values those who fear him, those who put their hope in his faithful love.”
Psalm 147:10-11 (CSB)

I sensed the Lord asking me, “Do you fear Me more than you fear leaving your job?”  

The question was so gentle, so kind. This gracious rebuke didn’t leave me feeling shamed or condemned, but resolved and confident in my God who was offering me His faithful love.  

“No,” I confessed. “I’ve feared everything else before I’ve feared You.”

It was a simple exchange of exposure, confession, and repentance. I didn’t even cry. But I sure felt fortified by it.

It wasn’t up to me to provide for myself or to fix what was going on at work. I didn’t have to muscle my way to find a job I would feel safe in, where I could heal and come alive again. There would be no ribbon or trophy for impressing God. Maybe I’d impress my parents, but not my God.  

Two days after this exchange with God, I resigned. No job lined up. At the time of this writing, I still don’t have a job. But in fearing this outrageously good and faithful God, I have found that, even if everything else fails, I still have Him.

I know relief in my body like I’ve never known — and I have a peace and hope that can only be found in God . . . the One who longs to show me His faithful love.