The Legacy You Leave

The Legacy You Leave

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I will never forget the emotions that surrounded the opening of a certain cardboard box that had just been delivered to our tiny apartment in the late eighties. It seemed massive to my young childhood eyes…as if I opened a wardrobe of sorts that would whisk me to a different land.

I can still remember the wonder and excitement my brother and I felt as we pulled each item out of the box. It was filled with VHS tapes, activities, and other resources to help strengthen our faith. My first Bible was in that box, a beautifully illustrated masterpiece that opened my eyes to more than I could imagine. I can still envision the colors and strokes of paint that added texture to the Bible stories that were forming my own story.

My mom ordered that box for us. I don’t even know how she afforded it considering the effort it took to keep our little family afloat.

This season was just one of my parents’ multiple separations until they officially divorced about six years later. When my mother first arrived in the United States to join my father as he worked on his degrees — and she started hers — I don’t think she expected to spend most of her time alone. She’s often told me how hard it was to come from Nigerian culture where new mothers were surrounded with intentional care in their first year postpartum, to landing in Alabama, not knowing what to do with the newborn she’d just delivered from her body and without support.

In those early years through the birth of my siblings, my mom was in a place of heightened desperation. So she surrounded us with a small church community. She brought us with her to prayer meetings where the voices of other Nigerian immigrants bellowed and echoed around us. At those gatherings, unrelated aunties stroked my hair as they beseeched the Lord God Almighty on behalf of themselves and so many others.

Even though this was a time of strain and struggle and rejection, I look back on those years with fondness because that is where my faith solidified. Jesus wasn’t just a story or a Sunday school lesson on the flannel board (my favorite!). He was real and tangible in my house because He was all we had to cling to.

My mom walked out more heartache than I can imagine but I watched how she continued to cling to the Lord. I heard her prayers, saw the creases in her Bible, and felt her protection in the decisions she made (and didn’t make) to give us her best.

Some may grow up in families with massive inheritances and financial stability. Even though that was not the case for my family, I feel as if I was richer than most because my mom gave us an inheritance that will not fade or decay. She not only taught us about the Lord, but she showed us that He was trustworthy through her actions and experience. In her darkest moments, the light of her dependency on Christ still burst through, beckoning me to know God for myself too.

One of the most fascinating stories to me is the one of Naomi and Ruth. I adore reading about the redemption and the love that unfolded. But the part that encourages me the most is that in the middle of their heartache and grief, Ruth decided that she wanted Naomi’s God to be her God. She wanted the Lord that was with Naomi to be with her too (Ruth 1:16-17).

We are familiar with Ruth’s words of devotion but perhaps we sometimes forget the circumstances that formed them. Ruth didn’t say these words out of the overflow of comfortable, victorious times. They were declared amid grief, uncertainty, and inevitable transition. Somehow Naomi’s determination to cling to the hand of the Lord — even when she felt He had turned it against her — impacted Ruth deeply.

You may feel like your past journey or current one is so filled with struggle that it would be hard for anyone to wrestle out some sort of redemption. But you have no idea the type of legacy you leave from those hard places. Because it’s not about what you feel like you can or can’t do, but about the One you stubbornly cling to, even if it’s just grasping a tiny thread of the tassel hanging from His robe.

I don’t think my mom ever felt like she had much to give us in those seasons but she, in fact, gave us everything. Everything. She offered us, and still does, glimpses of what it means to live our lives not anchored on circumstances, but on the Rock who will never fail.

You Won’t Learn Everything from a Kindergartner But You Can Learn Something

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I was not long out of college when we visited my boyfriend’s (now husband) family friends. They were a large, three-generation ranch family in Nevada, and the patriarch and matriarch had immigrated from Italy. Their English was broken and beautiful.

One of their grandchildren, Dana, was about five years old at the time. She was a darling, precocious little thing, who entered the room like sunshine: bright and uninvited, with a beaming countenance that might as well have been a shot of Vitamin D. Dana was the sort of child who could climb into your lap without permission and coax the sweetest smile from the sourest of dispositions. To her, everyone was a friend waiting to be made.

Her behavior reminded me of a familiar refrain from Maya Angelou: “…people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Dana came expecting the best from you, so that’s usually what she got. Her joie de vivre was contagious. It is telling I still remember her name.

I’ve thought about Dana through the years – decades – since I met her, wondering if she retained that dazzling spirit as she grew up. I can’t help but hope so.

We need the kind of people in our lives who help us recapture the joy of being alive. Expecting the best. Assuming you’re wanted and loved. Liking you for no reason other than you’re the only person in the room or yours is the nearest lap to be filled.

What if we lived like everyone we met was a friend waiting to be made?

And what other lessons might we learn from a child?

In a surprising admonishment, Jesus challenged His followers to follow the example of children –

“And they were bringing children to him that he might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.’ And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them.”
Mark 10:13-16 ESV (and a similar passage in Luke 18:15-17)

Jesus had a strong reaction to the disciples when He observed their response to children being brought to Him; He was indignant. In fact, Jesus told them they would miss out on the kingdom of God if they didn’t receive it like a child.

So, what might it look like for us to come to Jesus like children?

Perhaps we see a glimpse of this through the relationships we have with dear friends and family. Think about how you feel when you’re planning to spend time with someone with whom you share mutual love and affection. You’re likely eager and expectant. Because of the depth of your relationship, you feel safe, secure, and free to be fully yourself. You want to hear everything they have to tell you, and you’re comfortable sharing the most private pieces of your heart. You’re glad to see them come and sad to see them go.

Could this be how children intuitively felt around Jesus?

As children of God, we are known, wanted, cherished, and loved beyond the bounds of any human relationship. Maybe children have an easier time believing this to be true, and their response is simply to give back what they’ve been given, to reflect the love and acceptance they’ve received.

Why is it that what comes so naturally for a child isn’t so easy for grown-ups?

Maybe it’s harder for us to sense and receive God’s perfect love as we get older because we carry the baggage of a broken and imperfect world. We’ve been hurt by people we love in a thousand different ways. It’s hard to comprehend or even imagine the beauty and goodness of God’s love because the way we love has limits and conditions and restrictions.

Faith initiated by Christ out of love is about relationship, not rules. And, our faith flourishes when we get to know God personally and intimately, not just know facts about him. Children haven’t acquired a lot of head knowledge yet, but from an early age, they sure understand heart knowledge.

What might it look like for us to “receive the kingdom of God like a child”? I suspect it looks a lot like Dana — joyfully, expectantly, trusting God to deliver all He promises.

We might not have learned everything we need to know in kindergarten, but the somethings we learned are worth remembering. They might just hold the keys to the kingdom.

Come Sit at My Table

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Panic coursed through my veins. And that’s no surprise; it’s one of the scariest situations a human can live through:

The first lunch period at a new school. In fourth grade.

I thought I was going to be in the clear. You see, my new teacher, Mrs. Berkowski, had assigned me a “buddy” for my first week so I could learn what to do in this new and strange school, meet some people, and feel a little less awkward. (When, really, aren’t fourth graders primarily made up of awkward?)

As I grabbed my Happy Days lunchbox with The Fonz giving me his double thumbs up, I started to follow my teacher-assigned buddy, Valerie, and her group of giggly friends to the outside lunch tables.

Once she realized I was following her (maybe a little too closely), Valerie turned around, blocked my path, and said, “You’re not sitting with us. I only have to be your buddy during class.”

I am still convinced, to this day, that there is nothing that can hurt a soul more than cutting words from a nine-year-old.

So, The Fonz and I went to sit at an empty metal table so I could eat my PB&J and sliced carrot sticks without bothering anyone else. I understood my place, and it was alone.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I hung my head and bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from crying in this new place. I didn’t want anyone to see me break down. It would just be one more reason to not belong.

Hunched over my lunch, trying to become as small as I possibly could, I didn’t notice a girl walk up to my side, but I did hear the words, “You can sit at my table.”

And that’s when I had to keep from crying again — this time from relief. I gathered up my food and carton of milk, and The Fonz and I joined Brooke and one of her friends. For the rest of the lunch period I hardly talked. I was just so grateful to be sitting at the table with other people instead of alone.

And now, any time someone:

  • asks me and my husband out for lunch after church
  • brings a meal to our house when one of us is sick
  • sets up a coffee date
  • shares the eggs their chickens laid
  • invites me over for dinner,

I remember that feeling.

The feeling of not being alone anymore.

The feeling of “come sit at my table.”

The feeling of moving from “weird new kid” to “part of the gang.”

The feeling of belonging.

What my fourth-grade little heart longed for, and what my grown-up self recognizes now, is that my friend Brooke embodied the words of Jesus in Matthew 25:35–40 (NIV):

“‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

That simple invitation to “come sit at my table” changed more than just a lunch period. It changed my understanding of kindness, connection, and the profound role that simply sharing a meal plays in our lives. It reminded me that even the smallest gestures, like offering a seat or sharing food, can have a life-changing impact.

It did for me.

Food has always been more than sustenance; it’s a universal language of love and community. When we break bread together, we nourish not just our bodies but our souls. Every shared meal becomes an opportunity to say, “You are seen, you are valued, you belong.”

In a world where loneliness often whispers in the quiet moments, extending a hand — and a meal — can turn isolation into togetherness. Let’s be the ones who scooch over and make room at our tables, the ones who see those sitting alone and say, “Come, sit at my table.” Because when we do, we meet a double need: we feed the hunger and form the connection.

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If you’re looking for a way to easily love the people around you with nourishing food, plus incorporate meaningful rest into your life while taking care of your future self, order Kathi’s new cookbook, Sabbath Soup: Weekly Menus and Rhythms to Make Space for a Day of Rest.

Sabbath Soup would make a great Christmas gift for all the women on your list. The book includes over 100 recipes (not all of them soup), reflective prayers, and strategies to take a day of rest every week.

When you order before October 12, you’ll also receive access to Kathi’s “Sabbath Soup Shortcuts” to help you get dinner on the table with a lot less effort. Redeem Your Preorder Here.

Place your order to get your freebies. . . AND also enter to WIN one of five copies that we’re giving away*! Leave a comment on this post telling us about your favorite way to spend your Sabbath or invite someone to your table and be entered to win.

Then be SURE to tune in to the (in)courage podcast this weekend for a heartening conversation with Becky Keife and Kathi Lipp, all about real hospitality and more. Listen in on your favorite podcast app!

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and will close at 11:59 pm central on 10/13/24.

When You’re Tempted to Rant Against Your Neighbor

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A friend had a political post on her social media feed and I noticed a mutual friend made a comment challenging her view. I knew it was going to get ugly very fast because they didn’t know each other well but were only acquaintances. A comment war soon ensued with strangers adding in more attacks.

I decided to call both of them individually to address the post before it got any worse and it would just be awkward if they ever saw each other again in person. I knew both of them loved Jesus. But they didn’t know each other. So I gently reminded them to recognize how ranting on this one post can make them lose their witness to their non-Christian friends, plus jeopardize a potential future friendship with each other. I challenged them to think about the other person and how our lived experiences and stories shape our perspective; one heated conversation isn’t going to change that. I urged them to show grace and go to each other privately to learn about each other before discussing their political affiliations. They both took the conversation seriously, for which I am grateful.

God’s grace is the only remedy for our anger and hate towards our neighbor.

It is easy to have witnessed and tasted the grace of God, but still not fully grasp it. Living in the current divisive and polarizing culture, we are quick to choose sides and think that those who vote and live differently than we do deserve to be despised. The book of Jonah is a reminder that God’s grace isn’t based on man’s goodness. We are all imperfect and undeserving people who desperately need God’s grace.

Jonah starts with God calling him to Nineveh, the capital city of Assyria — the most powerful, violent nation of that day. Assyrians and Israelites were enemies. Immediately, Jonah decides to go in the opposite direction of God’s plan. He heads to Tarshish, which was as far west as you could go in the known Mediterranean world.

It can seem like Jonah perhaps ran because he feared the Ninevites, but in the last chapter of Jonah, we learn that he also ran away because he didn’t want them to experience God’s grace. Jonah had seen God’s grace before when God spoke through Jonah to King Jeroboam II.

2 Kings 14: 25 (NIV) says, “He was the one who restored the boundaries of Israel from Lebo Hamath to the Dead Sea, in accordance with the word of the Lord, the God of Israel, spoken through his servant Jonah son of Amittai, the prophet from Gath Hepher.”

Jonah witnessed how God’s grace restored Israel’s northern boundaries, increasing its borders in spite of Israel’s king who did evil in the eyes of the Lord. He learned that God’s grace wasn’t based on man’s goodness, but Jonah didn’t want that same grace poured out to the Ninevites.

God pursues Jonah on his rebellious journey to Tarshish with a storm. Jonah recognizes it is God, but rather than surrender and obey, he asks the sailors to toss him into the sea. But God provides a big fish to swallow Jonah.

In the belly of the big fish, Jonah realizes that the storm and the fish were God’s grace towards him in his disobedience. He was reminded again that God’s grace wasn’t based on man’s goodness. He decides to go to Nineveh, but to his surprise, the Ninevites immediately repent and cry out to God. Jonah becomes angry at God’s grace toward the people he dislikes.

It’s easy to judge Jonah, but so many of us have become like Jonah during the election season, angry and annoyed.

Listen, the enemy wants us to live with an “Us vs. Them” mentality and only choose people who are just like us, who believe and vote like us. Often, we defend our hate for our neighbor with love for country and allegiance to a political leader, forgetting that we as Christ followers have been made citizens of heaven and our allegiance belongs to Jesus, alone.

We are called to be people of grace, reflecting His heart and love to those who are different than us and even those who disagree with us. Jesus’s finished work on the cross not only tore the veil so we could have a personal relationship with God, but also demolished the wall of division and hostility among mankind.

“For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility…”
Ephesians 2:14 NIV

Jesus grafted into his family the fisherman and tax collector, Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor. He has made us one.

So as Christ followers, we don’t get to divide and categorize people into groups. We don’t get to determine who deserves grace and love, because His grace was poured out for all people. We fight the enemy’s tactic to divide the family of God and seek unity that can only come from Jesus. I pray that we become people who freely give this grace, that we have been freely given.

Begging for God’s Rescue

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“Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?”
Matthew 6:27 NLT

Everything seemed so bright. We had a wonderful life, complete with happy kids, good salaries, and a hopeful future. But with one crisis after another, that life faded away, leaving behind a pile of debt, unemployment, arguments, and so much anxiety.

What happened to my life, God? Did we do something wrong? Tell me what kind of magic-button prayer will get us out of this mess!

I cried every day. I begged God to rescue us from the land of uncertainty and give us back our old life. I coped with the only strategy I knew: worrying. I thought I could protect myself from more pain if I imagined all the worst-case scenarios in advance: What if we can’t pay this month’s bills or the medical test? What if we need a new transmission? What if our life never gets better? However, obsessing over my “what if” worries didn’t make me feel better. Instead, I felt worse!

Maybe you’re like me, faced with an uncertain season of life and stuck in the middle of hardship or heartache. Jesus understands. Jesus knew one day His closest friends would be fearful of the future and worries would overwhelm their hearts and minds. So, before His death, He made this promise: “I am leaving you with a gift — peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid” (John 14:27 NLT).

The peace Jesus gives provides supernatural calm in the midst of chaos and hardship. It’s the kind of peace we absolutely need when we’re not sure what will happen next.

It took a few years of stressed-out days and sleepless nights for me to learn to surrender my worrying ways in favor of Jesus’s peace. Though our difficult season continued, God was faithful to remind me of His promised peace.

We can rest assured that God’s promise doesn’t have an expiration date. It never runs empty. And when our “what if” worries try to steal our calm, we are only a prayer away from unshakable faith and receiving shalom from the Prince of Peace.

by Barb Roose, as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

Pray with us.

Pray with us.

On the first Sunday of every month, we make space to intentionally pray for one another. Do you feel like Barb today, asking, What happened to my life, God? Are you in desperate need of the peace Jesus promises? Share your heart in the comments, then pause to pray for another sister.

Together we will encounter the Prince of Peace.

 

When You’re Longing for a Different Kind of Season

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I love autumn. Like, realllly love it. I wait all summer for summer to end with a very ‘get it over with’ kind of attitude. Here in Minnesota, you have folks of all stripes: those who live for hot summer days on the lake, those who pine for the frozen sparkle of snow, those who can’t wait to get into their spring gardens, and those of us who wait with bated breath from December through August for autumn.

Guess which group I’m in.

To be clear, I love living in a place that celebrates and embraces all four seasons. You can find me outside in them all — yep, even winter (my second favorite season!). But fall has a hold on my heart.

I’ve long adored this brief season that quietly slips in and ends by roaring into the next, blazing a trail of coziness and color in between. I celebrate my birthday in the fall, the majority of the music I stream for these months is autumn-themed, and I wrote a whole entire devotional about seeing God all autumn long. I totally deck out my home in oranges and mustards, pull out my flannels and sweaters, and celebrate each holiday in a big way. My family loves football and my son plays, so Saturdays are spent at his games, Sundays are spent cheering for our hometown teams, and I make really good snacks — even though I don’t really follow the game. Grocery store aisles and coffee shop menus teem with my beloved pumpkin spice and I soak it all up in its limited edition glory.

I just love it all. Usually, I’m chomping at the bit to dive right into my favorite season. This summer was the hottest on record and I fully expected myself to decorate early, crank up the A/C, and longingly stare at the trees, willing their leaves to change.

But here we are all the way into October with my birthday celebrated and my son’s football season over, and though our trees have all turned, it’s still warm out; that lovely brisk autumn air hasn’t yet dropped here. The grass is still green, even my garden tomatoes continue to grow, and it just doesn’t feel like autumn… outside, or in my heart.

Maybe it’s because I’m worn out from the daily grind of work, home, kids, and all that goes along with managing a life.

Maybe it’s because I’m in long-term sadness as a beloved family member struggles with serious health issues, with no end or diagnosis in sight.

Maybe it’s because my husband traveled a lot for work this summer and we went on exactly one date.

Maybe it’s because September blazed into being this year with all the back-to-school ruckus of papers, new shoes, forms, spirit days, lunch menus, and schedules, and it was all due at once (and most of the things required a check).

Maybe it’s because the laundry never ever ends, and the shoe pile in the mudroom constantly overflows, and by the time I’ve dragged out the appropriate seasonal clothing from the basement tubs we’ve nearly moved on to the next one, and I can never quite catch up to my to-do list.

Maybe it’s because for my birthday I really wanted to take a trip to Minnesota’s North Shore, where the fall foliage is iconic as the lighthouse on Lake Superior, but the trees passed their peak weeks ago. The hot, dry summer led to an earlier turning, and with palpable disappointment I missed it.

One of my favorite artists, Mary Engelbreit, has a piece that features a frazzled-looking lady and a caption that reads, life is just so daily. I relate to that wild-haired, big-eyed, ready-to-snap lady’s statement deep in my soul and I wonder if that’s it, that I’m just so buried in the daily (which I usually feel sparkles with ordinary glory) — and I can’t claw through and see the wonder of it.

It’s still there, the pull to and evidence of God’s glory shimmering right on the edges of our real lives. I think about Jesus living His short, full, very real life here on Earth and I wonder if He saw the glory in the dirt. Did He ever struggle with work? Stress out over the dishes? Feel behind on all that He knew needed to be crammed into just a few years?

Then these words in Ecclesiastes come to mind, of seasons and turning and timing, and one phrase leaps out to my heart from them:

“I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart…”
Ecclesiastes 3:10-11 NIV

And I feel seen, knowing it’s there in that place of burden that my own human heart is getting bogged down. Standing right between everything God has made beautiful, with the knowledge of eternity and all I want to fit into this one precious life getting in the way of experiencing it all.

Like the leaves on the North Shore, turned ahead of time and out of sync with my expectations, I feel out of step with this season I love so much. But those passages in Ecclesiastes remind me of the Jesus I also love so much, that His life also turned ahead of time… and yet it was actually the exact, perfect, just right time.

Every step we take is in His time, and there’s a grace and relief in that.

Even when it flies, the time is His. Even when it drags on and on, it’s His. Even when it feels off-beat, it’s His.

So I’ll look at the trees lining my street, changing colors on the timeline only they know, and breathe deep for a moment knowing the same One who changes the leaves can also change my heart.

Written by Anna E. Rendell, originally published in 2023.

 

Jesus Is Praying for You

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I awoke at four in the morning to my body thrumming with a fever, and immediately I could almost feel my heart sink within me. There is never a good time to get sick, but this is the busiest season of my year. 

Later that morning, I found myself curled up on the cold tile of my bathroom floor. 

Jesus, I whispered softly. I can’t be sick now. How am I supposed to get everything done?

I crawled back into bed and slept for two days.

Everything felt like too much. I had zero margin. I was living at max capacity. And in a month that already was slipping through my fingers, I now found myself feverish and ill.

But being sick didn’t stop the tasks from piling up or one day turning into the next.

When sickness comes, or margins get too thin, or life feels too hectic, it can so often feel like we are alone. We’re told Jesus never leaves us or forsakes us, and I believe that, I do. What impacts me most in these moments is not just remembering that Jesus is with me and around me, but knowing that He is actively interceding for me.

Jesus actually prayed for us. For you. How astounding is that? We read very clearly in John 17 that Jesus spent time with His Father, crying out on behalf of His disciples, and all believers – present and future – making very specific requests for them. Jesus was committed to praying for others. Jesus was committed to praying for you.

John 17 walks us through Jesus’s prayer. He asked God to fill believers with joy. He asked God to protect those who believed in Him from the evil one. He asked for us to be sanctified by the truth, which means Jesus appealed to the Father to declare us holy and purified. 

Jesus was praying for you — that you would become set apart for God. That you would choose to say no to the things this world offers to bring satisfaction, and instead lean into what God knows will truly satisfy. 

I can’t help but think that since Jesus took the time to pray these words, it must be very important to the heart of God. Many of the words in the prayers Jesus prayed weren’t recorded in the Bible, but this one was.

But not only did Jesus pray for you then, Jesus prays for you now. Jesus is praying for you.

Romans 8:34 promises that in this very moment, Jesus is at the right hand of God, interceding for you. Can you imagine if you heard the voice of Jesus in the next room over, praying on your behalf? But it’s not a thought that only lives in your imagination. It’s reality. Jesus prayed for you two thousand years ago, and He prays for you presently — continually.

If margins are tight or life is feeling too much, remember this: the One who died to set you free is praying for you right now.

If it feels like the world is constantly urging you to seek fulfillment in it, pray what Jesus prayed: to be set apart. If you struggle with living under a weight of anxiety and sadness, pray what Jesus prayed: to be filled with joy. If you sense the enemy coming against you, pray what Jesus prayed: to be protected from the evil one.

Then watch how God moves and answers this prayer as you pray it for yourself and others — just as Jesus prayed it for you.

What the Olympics Teach Us About Delighting in Diversity

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My husband Shawn and my late husband Ericlee both independently and collectively dreamed of going to the Olympics in person one day. That dream came to fruition on a humid August night this summer under a star-kissed sky in the north of France. Shawn and I entered the stadium with our three teenage daughters. We spent the next three evenings at the Stade de France, watching the finals of Track & Field at the 2024 Paris Olympics.

Reports said 10,500 athletes competed overall in this Olympic Games from 206 nations. But perhaps more impressive is that this was the most well-attended Olympic Games in history. In the colossal stadium, the energy of 80,000-plus people was electric. Our family of five treasured this opportunity to be a part of it.

We cheered wildly with the rest of the world while my all-time favorite American athlete, Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone, smashed her own world record in the women’s 400-meter hurdles to finish in 50.37 seconds. Many professional female runners can’t run 400 meters (with no hurdles) in that time. 

Sydney is special because of her poise, her speed, and her commitment to giving God the glory while achieving superhero status in her events. She joins the ranks of many athletes who broke records, acquired medals, and used the Olympics as an opportunity to share their faith.

The Olympic Games started in 776 B.C. in Greece. Part of the tradition of the games through the years is that the host country welcomes and offers safe passage for visitors from around the world to take part in the games. Weapons are laid down; politics are set aside; people rise above their differences to cheer their favorite athletes to victory.

Our family experienced first-hand this coming together of people from across the globe. As we ran through the streets of Paris and sat on the edge of our seats at the stadium, I was overcome by the spirit of welcome and community we felt.

Throughout the week, we met people from many countries. We walked to the sessions with our new German next-door neighbors, a family who also rented an Airbnb in the neighborhood. We befriended an Irish dad and his 8-year-old daughter who were on a daddy-daughter getaway week, traveling the country to attend different Olympic events. We dished on the Metro with a group of guys from Spain about plans for the 2028 Olympics in LA. We borrowed binoculars from a German couple next to us in the stands so we could get a better view of the long jump. We high-fived fellow Americans after victories in the relays and 200-meter race. We cheered until our voices grew hoarse with the Brits, French, Pakistanis, Nigerians, and Dutch in our spectator section.

The truth is: we are living in a tumultuous time in history. Wars rage between countries, guns infiltrate schools, trafficking steals the innocence of children, and elections deepen the fissures between us. And yet, in that open-air stadium with thousands of people made in God’s image from around the globe, I felt like I had a glimpse of the vision John describes in Revelation:

After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice:

“Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb.”
Revelation 7:9-10 NIV

In this passage, John describes the completion of God’s salvation plan for the world. God sent his son Jesus to die on the cross for sinners like you and me. He rose again, conquered sin and death, and ascended to the Father where we will meet Him one day. He is waiting for the right time to return and welcome all believers from all nations, tribes, and languages to join Him in heaven. 

David gives us a taste of this in Psalm 22: “All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the LORD, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him, for dominion belongs to the LORD and he rules over the nations” (Psalm 22:27-28 NIV).

Maybe you didn’t attend the Olympics, but you stayed up watching the games and got a glimpse of the glory too. What we experienced during the Olympics and Paralympics pales in comparison to this moment at the end of history, when we will all celebrate the ultimate victory of salvation and worship Jesus, our Champion, together in unity.

Paul echoes it in Romans 5:5-6 (NIV): “May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had, so that with one mind and one voice you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

In the meantime, what if we purposely live differently than the tumultuous world around us? What if we offer hospitality to strangers? What if we work toward reconciliation in the church and our communities? What if we decide to raise our voices in worship alongside brothers and sisters who are different from ourselves? 

In this way, we might step into the spirit of the Olympics year-round. And more importantly, we might walk in the shalom of Jesus, the Lamb who will one day delight in our diversity as He sits on the throne.

Dorina helps people feast on the glory of God through her weekly Glorygram and Global Glory Chasers podcast. 

You’re Not Too Old – and You’re Not Too Young Either

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It’s a Sunday morning, and I’m sitting at the back of the gathering room at a senior-living center.

Eight people are facing a TV screen fixed to the wall. There’s a smattering of wheeled walkers in various colors, with those flip-up, padded seats where you can keep your purse and your hanky.

Behind me, I can hear a machine pumping someone’s supplemental oxygen.

It’s Sunday morning, and in this room, we are watching a live-streamed church service. I’m with my mom. She lives here now, and while living in a facility wasn’t Mom’s first choice, this is life, and she’s making the most of it. She’s meeting new people, trying new things, and showing up on Sunday mornings, like a champ, with a small group of people who – like her – love Jesus.

The pastor’s message on the TV screen is stirring, for sure. But there’s a whole ‘nother sermon being preached in the room, and I’m captivated. I scan the room and see a handful of men and women in their 70s, 80s, and 90s, leaning in.

They are leaning toward the TV, but even more, they are leaning in toward God to take note of what He wants to say to them right now.

Instinctively, they seem to know that God is continuing to grow them – just like He did from the very beginning of their lives. They seem to understand that one doesn’t reach a certain point of having “mastered” this thing called faith.

And isn’t that what we all need to know, no matter what age we are?

If we are still breathing on this earth, God is still working. God is molding us, growing us, and conforming us more and more to His likeness. It’s just what He does.

That’s true when we are in our teens and 20s … and it’s equally true when we are in our 80s or 90s.

God didn’t bring us to earth as fully matured humans, with our intellect and spirituality completely formed. Instead, He deliberately chose to grow us slowly through each stage of life – proof that He continues working in us until we breathe our last breath.

When I read the Bible, I see how true this is. Many people from the Bible “grew up” with God and served Him until the very end of their lives.

Moses served God until his death at 120 years old (Deuteronomy 34:5-7).

Joshua remained faithful until his death at 110 years old (Joshua 24:29-31).

Daniel continued to grow with God, and never wavered in his faith. He honored God even in his old age.

And Paul dedicated his life to preaching the gospel, enduring many hardships along the way. Near the end of his life, Paul said, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7 NIV).

That is what we are called to do – to grow one day at a time, one step at a time, until we have finished the race.

If you are wondering right now if God has stopped “growing” you, be assured: HE HAS NOT. He was steadfast and faithful to Moses, to Joshua, to Daniel, to Paul, and to countless others in biblical times, and throughout world history.

And He is steadfast and faithful to you and me today. He is growing us, even now.

I challenge you to pray this prayer to God today: “Lord, keep working in my heart. Keep growing my faith. Keep me close to You all the days of my life, until I take my last breath.”

And then, take a deep breath… and count on the fact that God loves that prayer. He is answering it already.

God is never done working in our hearts and lives, no matter how young or old we are.

Jennifer’s book, Growing Slow, helps you embrace the fact that God grows us no matter where we are in our journey — even when the growth feels slow.

The Power of God Displayed Through the Gospel

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If you’ve been a Christian for any length of time, you likely know what the gospel is. It’s the Good News of what Jesus has done for humanity. You understand that through it, we are restored to a relationship with God. Many of us can point to the moment we believed in our hearts and confessed that Jesus is Lord. His kindness led us to repentance, and His grace opened our eyes to the truth. Salvation, redemption, forgiveness, healing, and freedom became ours. We were transferred from darkness into light. Once orphans, we are now daughters of God. Once enemies, we are now His friends. THIS IS THE GOOD NEWS!

At my church, the gospel is preached consistently and powerfully. But in the past couple of years, God has called us to more — not just as individuals but as a unified body. Our youth pastors sparked a fire by teaching a simple tool called 3 Circles, used by the North American Mission Board, to equip our young people to share the gospel. This training ignited a passion in them to step out in faith and evangelize in our city.

One Sunday, our entire congregation felt led to take the gospel beyond the church walls. We went into the neighborhood, knocking on doors, praying for people, and sharing the message of Jesus. This wasn’t just an outreach; it was an anointed movement of God. We felt His power flowing through us as we stepped into His calling to make disciples.

This past August, we embraced another shift, moving our prayer service to Wednesday nights and using Sunday afternoons for city outreach. We all received the same gospel training, and for three weeks straight, we went out to share the gospel in our community. At the same time, others remained in the church, interceding in worship and prayer for those evangelizing and the people they would encounter. It was a beautiful picture of unity — young and old, new believers and seasoned saints, people of every race, coming together with one mission.

The testimonies that followed were nothing short of awe-inspiring. People accepted Christ, recommitted their lives, experienced answered prayers, and witnessed God’s provision. The book of Acts came alive in our midst, and we knew that what God was doing in our church wasn’t just for us— it was for the world around us.

Acts 2:1-4 describes the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost. Our gatherings have always reflected this, but in August, there was a fresh anointing, a greater grace to carry the gospel. God poured out His Spirit in new ways, filling us with boldness, courage, joy, and expectation. That faith became fuel as we took the gospel into a city filled with darkness.

Yet, if we’re honest, the Great Commission is often neglected. Fear of rejection, feeling unqualified, or simply focusing too much on our own lives can hold us back. Sometimes we lack compassion for the lost. But God is calling us higher. He’s stirring hearts, breaking chains, and inviting us into the incredible work of sharing His love with a broken world.

At my church, we’ve also seen God move mightily at Louisiana State University, where students have encountered His power, love, and grace. Many have come to Christ, been healed, delivered, and baptized. But let me be clear—my church isn’t special. We were just obedient. God gave us a deep love for the lost, and we stepped into the calling to be salt and light, to give an account of the hope we have.

We’re all called to this. As a royal priesthood, entrusted with the ministry of reconciliation, let us grow in our passion for those who don’t yet know Him. People are desperate for something to fill their emptiness. They are waiting for someone to declare the Good News of Christ boldly. And that someone could be you.

So, I encourage you to take that step of faith. Share the gospel where God is calling you. The same Spirit that moved in Acts is alive in you. Leave a comment and let’s celebrate the testimonies of lives transformed and pray for even more opportunities to be His hands and feet. 

Where can you share the gospel today? Let’s do this together!

Which Voice Is the Loudest in Your Life?

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I’ve been told that I’m too naïve. That always believing the best about people will get me into trouble. I’ve been told I’m too sensitive, too emotional, too positive.

I am sensitive, emotional, and positive. I am also wired with extra empathy receptors—I can feel all the joy, all the sorrow, all the tension in the room. Sometimes it short-circuits my system. (Hello, anxiety.)

There have been times I’ve believed all these things add up to one big, consuming weakness. I believed that life would be better if I could just feel less, care less, and be more logical, more “realistic.”

But then I learned to listen to the voice of God. And the voice of “you’re too much this and not enough that” is never His.

That voice sounds like shame. God’s voice sounds like love.
That voice belittles. God’s voice uplifts.
That voice stifles. God’s voice celebrates.
That voice condemns. God’s voice calls.

The voice of God calls me — and you — to be exactly who He created. God’s creation was never meant to fit in a mold for the approval of others; we are made to fulfill a unique calling, bestowed by the Creator, to serve and expand His kingdom.

But in order to answer God’s call on our lives, we have to know who He calls us. And to receive who God calls us, we have to reject the false names spoken over us. This is crucial. Why? Because a cup full of mud can’t hold fresh water.

The process of releasing the false to receive the true isn’t anything new. Just flip through your Bible and you’re bound to land on the story of someone battling worldly voices before stepping into God’s truth.

Take Moses. Do you think he ever heard the whispers, Traitor, Murderer, Stutterer, Deserter? The facts proved that Moses did live in cross-cultural tension, he did kill an Egyptian guard in a rage for justice, he did lack eloquence in speech, and he did run away to the desert.

But God looks beyond the facts of our lives to the identity of our souls.

Who was Moses, really? He was God’s leader, deliverer, and friend. The one the Lord Almighty spoke face-to-face with inside a tent and met with on a mountain. Moses was God’s staff holder and mouthpiece, the one through whom He parted the Red Sea and delivered the Ten Commandments. The world judged Moses. God called him.

Look at Gideon. The angel of the Lord called him mighty warrior! But Gideon called himself the weakest and the least.

Abram called himself old and his wife, Sarai, barren, but God gave them new names. Sarah was meant to be a mother and God deemed Abraham the father of many nations.

When Jesus called Peter to follow Him, Peter only saw himself as a sinful man. But Jesus knew that Peter’s true self was a fisher of men.

Are you getting the picture? The bleeding woman was viewed as a hopeless outcast; Jesus called her daughter. The man on the cross next to Jesus was labeled condemned; Jesus called him forgiven. Saul lived by the labels Pharisee, prestigious pedigree, and persecutor of Christians. But the Lord called him Paul, the one who would no longer oppress Christ but most boldly proclaim Him.

And over and over and over, on every page of Scripture, in every season of history, God untangles the lies that bind hearts and tears off the scales that blind eyes so His people can be set free, to see and receive their true identity from Him.

It’s miraculous grace every time.

And? It’s often vulnerable to not only receive our true identity but to believe it. Over and over we see people learning to walk in their calling and doing it scared. Messing up. Believing and then doubting. Running and then stumbling.

And it’s okay.

It can take time to unlearn the false and relearn the true. Sometimes I’m still tempted to push down my feelings, tamp down my heart, and just stay quiet. Sometimes I allow myself to absorb the cynicism and criticism of the world—and what we absorb eventually leaks out!

But then I remember who God has called me: His Word Warrior, Hope Wielder, Mouthpiece of Comfort.

God has put hope in my heart so I can confidently offer it to others. He’s made me sensitive so I know how to share His comfort. He’s made me insightful and outspoken so I can battle the darkness with the words He provides.

Walking in the name Jesus calls me isn’t always easy, but it is the greatest joy of my life. There is always joy in truth, joy in surrender, joy in obedience.

What voices are you listening to today? It’s time to silence the voices of shame and discouragement and turn up the volume of God’s voice of love. What God calls you is the truest thing about you. Ask Him your name.

Then receive it. Believe it. Live it.

Becky loves teaching women to hear God’s voice and walk in their true identity. If you want to know who God calls you so you can step into what He’s calling you to do, learn more about The Identity Intensive.

 

 

If You’ve Ever Asked, “Who am I to…?”

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“Therefore, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh so that you may lead my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” But Moses asked God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” He answered, “I will certainly be with you, and this will be the sign to you that I am the one who sent you: when you bring the people out of Egypt, you will all worship God at this mountain.”
Exodus 3:10-12 CSB

When we meet Moses in Exodus 3, he has a complicated history. He was an Israelite, born into slavery in Egypt. In an effort to spare his life, his mother placed him in a basket in the Nile River, where he was discovered by the daughter of Pharaoh. Though Pharaoh had given the order to kill all Israelite baby boys, she was moved by his cries and adopted him as her own. So Moses grew up with prestige and privilege — a life completely opposite from that of his people.

One day, in an ill-conceived effort to stand up for his own, Moses killed an Egyptian whom he witnessed beating a Hebrew slave. He thought what he’d done was a secret, but word got out and he had to flee from Egypt, losing everything — his identity, his family, his life as he knew it.

Moses settled in the desert land of Midian, where he got married and settled down. It’s in this mundane season of life, while tending his father-in-law’s sheep, that God met Moses in a burning bush.

Knowing his history, we can understand why Moses responded to God as he did: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11). He couldn’t see how or why he would be qualified to lead the Israelites to freedom.

How many times have we asked ourselves the same question when we’ve felt called to something big or impossible?

  • Who am I to sing in front of a crowd?
  • Who am I to raise my children when I have no idea what I’m doing?
  • Who am I to speak out about a leader who’s done wrong to me?
  • Who am I to share my story when so many other people have more powerful testimonies to share?

The list could go on and on.

A thousand reasons might prove why you’re not qualified, but when God asks you to do something, all He’s looking for is a yes.

Today’s reading is an excerpt from the Courageous Influence Bible Study, by Grace P. Cho with stories from (in)courage writers.

Want to embrace the way God made YOU for impact? Get Courageous Influence while it’s on sale for only $10 at DaySpring.com. Hurry because this massive deal ends tomorrow!

 

This Is Your Invitation to Cultivate Holy Cravings

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I blink back tears as I open a new package of gochujang to add to dinner.

I’m not crying because of the spicy scent that wafts up to my face as I pull open the plastic seal. I’m crying because of my dad. Two years gone. Nobody prepares you for the random moments that pull grief up, like a rope tugging on a lifebuoy caught down in the deep.

Grief surfaces in the most mundane moments, like opening this brand of gochujang, the red pepper paste dad liked best. Many of the things that bring me delight are those I’ve unintentionally learned to appreciate . . . from my dad.

A hot mug of corn silk tea. Spontaneous movie nights.

If you stopped to consider it, you might be surprised by how many of your favorite things are influenced by the people around you. The music you like, the way you relax, the dessert you crave. In nearly all things, we are influenced by the preferences of those around us. Often, what is deemed good by them becomes what is desirable to us, too.

This is good news that can work for our holy cravings, too. If cravings can be caught, we can be strategic about who and what we choose to expose ourselves to most. Just as there is danger for the person who stands in the path of sinners or sits in the seat of scoffers, there is also blessing for the one who follows those who thirst for righteousness.

And, if cravings can be caught, the most obvious person we want to be around is Jesus. The gospel accounts show us Jesus’ affection for the lost, His delight in little children, and His preference to be alone with the Father in the wee hours of the morning and late into the night. Observing what our Lord enjoys doing and deems worthwhile can stir up a love for good deeds within our hearts.

Yet, while Jesus is our ultimate influencer, Jesus isn’t our only influencer.

“Imitate me, just as I also imitate Christ,” wrote Paul. We are sinners saved by grace, thrust into community. We’re not left to our own devices as we seek to follow Christ in loving what He loves and living out His ways.

Who in your life rejoices in God’s Word? Who loves to go before the throne of grace? Who delights in their family and the duty of caring for their household? Who makes you want to love what ought to be seen as lovely?

I know a woman who cherishes God’s Word so much she can barely speak about His truth without a glimmer in her eye and a lump in her throat. She studies it with such fervor and devotion that I’m convinced, every time, there must be another pearl of great price for me to discover within its pages. Her joy makes me want to bury my face in the Scriptures to see what wonderful things I might behold.

I know a group of women who have, for decades, gathered to pray for global missionary families. These steadfast sisters, who once brought their own babies along as they prayed to the Lord for those fulfilling the great commission, look back on hundreds of answered prayers and see the fruit of their labor. Their babies are my age now, and those women inspire me to be faithful in my years of motherhood, not neglecting my part in ministering to the lost overseas . . . and at home.

There are women in our churches, women online, women who write books, women who host podcasts, women in our libraries, women in our grocery stores, and women all throughout church history who have earnestly loved what is true, honorable, pure, lovely, commendable, and excellent. With so many examples of women who thirst for righteousness, we ought to surround ourselves with their influence.

Holy cravings are worthy of being caught and, for as much as our day and age presents a myriad of opportunities to develop unholy appetites, surely . . . we are abundantly surrounded by those who love and do good.

May we imitate them, as they imitate Christ. And, may we catch their holy cravings, loving what God loves — good deeds, global missions, gochujang, and all.

Gospel Truth for When You’re Pinching Pennies and Waiting on a Paycheck

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It was the last of my money. Coins, might I add.

I was six months pregnant and working in a bakery. One of the best dessert bakeries in Charlotte, North Carolina. I took custom cake and cookie orders. I slugged twenty-five-pound bags of granulated sugar over my shoulders and carried them from the basement to the kitchen. I stocked the bakery display with sprinkled sugar cookies, apple fritters, cream horns, guava pastelitos, and six-inch cakes with diplomat cream and strawberry filling.

Have I tickled your taste buds, yet?

At the end of each shift, I’d count my tip money and stuff it away. In time, these collected quarters and stray pennies would end up supplementing my grocery bill. Not many people knew, but I was on Medicaid at the time. Being a newlywed and in ministry with no money for insurance will do that to you. 

I’ll never forget that October, our third of the ten years we lived in Charlotte. It was my husband’s birthday and I wanted to celebrate how far he (and I) had come. It’d been a long few years of starting a new life in a new city and I wanted to mark the moment. We had friendships that were flourishing and a baby on the way. Despite all that was hard and heavy, there was much to give thanks for . . . and much to celebrate.

I remember dipping into my stash of tip money and using every last penny to buy food for the party I’d been planning for weeks. I’d stretched seventy-something dollars to buy custom birthday cookies (discounted from the bakery I worked at) and finger foods to feed about ten people.

But then the unimaginable happened: no one showed up.

Every RSVP of a Yes quickly turned into a No. This couple could no longer make it. That friend could come, but couldn’t stay for more than a minute. We grieved that night, my husband and I. We shot up questions into the long, dark night, wondering why it hurt so much and what to do with all our disappointment — and, also, what to do with all that food?

No one but my husband knew what it cost to set that table. No one knew just how precise I needed to be in my planning and purchases, or the sacrifice of time, or the earnest hours of work put in. No one but my husband knew about the exhausting effort spent in pinching pennies and balancing budgets, all while robbing Peter to pay Paul. 

Now, seven years later — after that heartbreak of a party — I feel like I’m looking for the gold thread in all of this. Because my husband and I still share one car. We’re still pinching pennies, still livin’ on a prayer, and staying with our parents to make ends meet.

In fact, being broke, short of cash, poor, in need, in debt, in the red, struggling, cash-strapped, and in lack is never easy, efficient, or encouraging. There are no pretty words or promising platitudes that are helpful or hope-filled enough for the ones living paycheck to paycheck to paycheck.

But there is this: never giving up on the gospel truth that God is good, whether we are in plenty or in want. No one may know what it costs you to set that table. But God knows. No one may know just how precise you need to be in your planning and purchases, or the sacrifice of your time, or the earnest hours of work you put in. But God knows.

No one may know how or why or for how long you’ve been pinching pennies, or gathering quarters, or balancing budgets, or robbing Peter to pay Paul. But God knows. God sees every sacrifice. He sees every swipe of the card. He sees every handwritten check, every cent saved, every coupon collected, every debt collector dialed.

I feel a little like Peter who, on the way to the temple with John, encountered a lame beggar at the temple gate. Peter, looking straight at the man, said to him, “Look at us!” And the man did, giving Peter and John his full attention. “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you,” said Peter. He spoke to the man, saying, “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” Then Peter took the man by the hand and helped him up. Instantly, the man’s feet and ankles became strong . . . and he went into the temple courts — walking, jumping, and praising God” (Acts 3:1-10 NIV).

Friends, silver or gold I have not . . . but what I do have I give you. Receive this encouragement, and let it strengthen, liberate, and enliven you with supernatural joy: God sees you standing at the gate, knocking and in need. He knows, and He alone can strengthen and sustain you, in the name of Jesus.

God is good, whether you are in plenty or in want. Pay attention to His goodness. May your praise empower you wherever your finances stand today.

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Friends — I’d love to hold space for any pressing financial or work situations you’re currently facing. Comment below and share a little bit about what you’re going through — I’d love to encourage you.

 

What Alleviates Your Loneliness

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I’m not a stranger to seasons of intense loneliness. I experienced it as a young girl who often felt like the odd duck in a beloved extended family of beautiful swans. I experienced it as a military spouse who often did the rinse-and-repeat routine of move, find new friends, and move again. And I’ve experienced it as a middle-aged woman who’s worried that a large portion of her identity has flown the coop right along with her adult kids.

Loneliness is especially hard because it compounds whatever struggle we’re enduring. Whether it’s a difficult move or a difficult marriage, loneliness makes your circumstances that much more difficult to walk through.

I know the frustration, too, of doing things to try and alleviate my loneliness only to be met with a lackluster response. Years ago, I cooked up a storm for a party and invited several folks over, but not one single person showed up. Later, when my husband deployed, I risked vulnerability by telling a group of new-to-me girls I was lonely only to hear nothing but chirpy insects. Sometimes, I’ve felt it after my family or I made a decision that few (if any) people understood.

As one now blessed to look back at a lot of life, I see obvious highlights where people alleviated my loneliness along the way. My magnificent Mema Rea and my other Mama Mary, always concerned that I was hungry, cooked pizza and baked homemade Reese’s bars because they knew I loved them. My high school best friend, Cathy, and her amazing mama, Dorothy, repeatedly welcomed me into their family like another daughter. When I had to leave my first teaching job for an across-country move, Patty and Susan threw me the best farewell party. Rebecca, after knowing me for only a month, threw my 27th birthday dinner party complete with a cake (the fastest way to my heart).

So, what did all those folks have in common? They noticed me. That’s the beginning and end of it, really. Through a kind word or small action, they noticed me. And as I passed by the mile markers of their loving kindness and friendship overtures, I felt less lonely.

Of course, it’s lovely when life works out that way. To be noticed is about the best feeling there is, I think. But what about the times you’re ignored, left out — not noticed? Perhaps you’re younger and so new to an area that no one knows to notice you. Or, perhaps you’re older and know the pain of people looking right past you.

To the degree it feels good to be noticed is the degree it feels awful to remain unseen.

The fact is, it takes time and opportunity to be noticed and to get to know people. In the waiting time between being unseen and seen, I’ve found this course of action the most helpful thing I can do to alleviate my loneliness:

Instead of waiting for someone to notice me, I notice someone else.

If we hopscotch through the Gospels, we see that Jesus was a pro at noticing people. He noticed when the bleeding woman touched His hem (Matthew 9:20-22, Mark 5:25-34, Luke 8:43-48). He noticed when Simon Peter and other disciples couldn’t catch any fish. (John 21:1-6). And He noticed when Mary Magdalene stood crying outside His empty tomb (John 20:11-18).

In all of these cases and many more still, Jesus’s first step to helping people was noticing them.

The same prescription is a good way to work through our own seasons of crushing loneliness. So, if I notice a new-to-me person in the neighborhood or at church, I’ll introduce myself and ask her a question or two. If I see someone at the grocery store wearing cute sandals or boots, I’ll tell her exactly what I think of her shoes. If I’ve made a too-big pot of soup at home, I’ll give the extra to someone. Or, I’ll simply double the recipe in the first place in order to double the blessing.

It’s certainly possible that in the Lord’s kindness, someone else may notice us without us having to reach out to them first. But we have 0% say in whether or not that happens. On the flip side, we have 100% say in how we choose to act in every season of our lives.

While there’s not a thing wrong with lamenting my lonely circumstances, I don’t want to turn inward to such a degree I give up my agency to see others. I want to notice others — and therefore create the opportunity for them to notice me in return.

To that end, may each of us notice someone else and in turn, notice that our loneliness is lessening, too, praise be to the good Lord above.

Are you, like so many others, in a season of loneliness? This 90-day devotional, Praying Through Loneliness, may be of help to you.

A Promise for When the Waves Just Keep on Coming

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“I can’t take my eyes off them,” I said, staring at the sea. The roar echoed off the nearby mountains, reverberated off the hotel walls, reached a crescendo, and then began again.

She followed my gaze, watched the crashing waves, and we stood still, silent, frozen, and amazed.

I’m no stranger to waves – literal or metaphorical. I spent the first 18 years of my life in Florida, and every summer we return to the same stretch of sand for our annual family reunion. Last year, in less than two minutes, the sky changed from baby blue to a deep gray as rain fell in sheets. The waves that gently splashed began to slam the shore, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I gathered beach chairs and turned to dash inside, only to walk straight into a wall of wind. Inch by literal inch, my cousins and I shuffled toward shelter, soaked through and shocked by the strength of the sudden storm.

After drying off inside, I stood on the balcony of the rented condo and noticed the small speck of a bird riding out the crashing waves. As if we switched places, I watched the bird from above and I told the One who walks on water, “That’s me right there and I’m exhausted.”

It was a tsunami of a year, and honestly, all these months later, the waves continue to rage.

Yet there I stood, on a different balcony on the opposite side of the country, another coastline before me and a friend beside me, shocked into silence by majesty.

Hours later, with sand squishing between our toes, we got as close as we dared and then we simply stared. Wonder. Awe. Beauty. A healthy fear, too, of what could be… and yet, as the water soared to heights above our heads and then crashed down before reaching our feet, what grew inside me was an unexpected peace.

I turned toward Tasha and said, “All year, it’s been one difficult thing after another. Every time I thought I saw a break in the waves, the storm picked up. But there’s just something about the strength of these waves. I think… maybe… God is inviting me to look at waves through another lens. Not to minimize the terror or the trauma or the terrible-ness of it all, but to remember that even the wild waves can be beautiful, too. They might keep on coming, but He’s greater than even THIS, so I’m going to be okay.”

Her eyes danced with delight as she exclaimed “We have to take a picture of you still standing, brave, and walking toward the water!” I slipped my phone into her hand, turned to face the roar, and walked forward, my words lost to the wind:

“God, You’ve heard every desperate prayer, but here’s one more. This storm, God… You know I never saw it coming. You know I’m weary and I’m heartbroken and I’m waiting for You to do what only You can do. Like the ocean in front of me, there’s no end in sight. But You’re mightier than even this, and I know You won’t let me drown. Teach me to dance in the deep. Help me see beauty, even here, before the storm stills.”

Sometimes, it seems like the waves will get the last word.

Sometimes, it feels like we’re gulping air — doggy-paddling and desperate and just trying not to drown.

Sometimes, years go by before the winds hush and the waters calm, their roar silenced in obedience to the One who says, “Peace, be still.”

My circumstances didn’t change as I stared at the sea, and watching the majesty there at the water’s edge didn’t make my own still-raging storm suddenly look beautiful. But I was reminded of a beautiful promise from the Maker of those mighty waves:

“The sound of the water is loud; the ocean waves are powerful, but the Lord above is much greater.” Psalm 93:4 NCV

His never-ending love is mightier than the waves of the sea, more powerful than the waters that crash, stronger than the fiercest storm, and greater than anything we face.

God is good and constant and constantly working all things for good. Love does not leave when waters rise, does not abandon us to the waves, or stand by wishing us well as we sink down deep. Oh no, Love Himself stays with us in the storm and says, “I’m mightier than even this, and so is My love for you.”

Maker of the waters, we ask You to speak peace over the chaos that is raging. In the Name of Jesus, the One who walks upon the storms that threaten to overtake, we declare that we aren’t going to drown. Instead, You’re teaching us to dance upon the waters, holding us up and holding true to Your word: You are greater than anything we face. You see the other side, and You will see us through. Help us hear Your voice above the roar, Your never-failing promise behind every wave: mightier than this, and this, and yes, even this, is Your love. Amen

If it feels like the waves just keep on coming and you’d like extra encouragement as you ride out the storm, Kaitlyn’s book Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between will help you choose hope for tomorrow when today feels like a question mark.