You Have Nothing to Prove

You Have Nothing to Prove

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When my kids were tiny, they loved Thomas the Train and all his friends. I loved watching them click the magnets together to make long, colorful lines of trains, and all the train noises they made as they moved them along the wooden tracks. I could still tell you all of their names. Hiro and Percy were my personal favorites. Those toy trains are still treasured — we keep a bin full of them to hopefully pass on to our kids’ littles someday.

In the television series and books, there’s a label that Sir Topham Hatt, the train conductor, consistently gives to these beloved trains as a measure of their value. He calls Thomas, and those he approves of, “really useful” engines.

I remember reading that description in one of the books and thinking about how good it feels to be useful, while simultaneously feeling like something didn’t sit well about striving for that affirmation. The trains beam when they hear Sir Topham Hatt say they are really useful.

I can picture myself beaming over a similar affirmation. I’m sure I’ve chased after affirmations like that before. No matter how old we are, most of us want to feel the weight of our true value. We want to be assured that we matter. It can be so easy to lose our way and forget that our value and worth aren’t things that can slip away, nor something that we have to prove.

Eventually, I remember having to stop in the middle of reading one of those familiar stories aloud, and tell my son that being useful isn’t our purpose; our measure of usefulness doesn’t increase or decrease our value as image bearers who are loved by God. I wanted to make sure he knew that God is not like Sir Topham Hatt, and honestly, I need the reminder too. I find this message of praising usefulness consistently wrapped around everything in our culture like a security blanket.

It sneaks up on us in our friendships when we find ourselves seeking to be the one who’s most needed. It follows us into motherhood like a phantom of the perfect mom who would never have kids who behave that way or struggle this way. It shows up in our communities and our ministry efforts when we sign up or raise our hand while secretly hoping others will notice how often we give of ourselves in the name of love, instead of from an overflow of being loved.

We all have Sir Topham Hatts in our lives (sometimes it’s us). The characters may change over time, and so might the settings. What’s elevated as most useful and good can change too, and I think that makes it even harder to see the lie woven alongside half-truths. I easily forget that my worth is unchangeable and my value is inherent. My usefulness or lack of doesn’t impact my value as an image bearer.

Everything about Jesus tells us that our worth isn’t dependent on what we do or don’t do, how much we help or fail to, and what we achieve or not. Even in Jesus’ own life, God the Father says He is loved and pleased with Jesus before He begins preaching, telling stories, leading, and healing the sick. “And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy” (Matthew 3:17).

Being delighted in and loved is the spiritual womb from which Jesus’s ministry is birthed. It’s the intimate place He goes back to again and again throughout His ministry and it’s the place He offers us to begin from and return to as well.

The trains we keep in our bin are full of memories. Watching my kids build and play, make funny train noises and voices, and enjoy themselves was delightful because their joy and mere presence have immeasurable worth. There’s nothing useful about it.

Sister, your joy and mere presence have immeasurable worth too.

You are perfectly loved.

You have inherent value.

You have nothing to prove.

You do not have to be useful; only loved.

 

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

God’s Comfort When Troubles Don’t Stop (…and celebrate our book launch with us!)

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I was behind on everything.

I’d tell myself to just do the next thing or to stop being so lazy.

I finally began seeing a therapist because I had such a hard time functioning. I couldn’t be creative or concentrate, and I didn’t want to hang out with anyone else besides my husband and my dog.

My therapist asked some initial questions, and I responded with, “Yeah, this thing happened, but it’s not a big deal.” Or “Yeah, it was hard for me, but other people have had it so much worse . . . ”

She finally stopped me and asked, “Have you heard of compound trauma?”

I hadn’t. She went on to explain. “Yes, any one of those things on their own may not have sunk you. But what it sounds like is that life has been unrelenting, and each of these traumas — and that’s what they are, traumas — has left you without the ability to recover.”

And as soon as I heard this, I, a dedicated non-crier, broke down in a flood of tears.

Yes, horrible things have happened to others, and I will mourn with them. But the magnitude of someone else’s suffering does not lessen my suffering. And until I allow myself to grieve, I cannot recover.

So many of us have been through surprisingly hard things. It doesn’t matter if other people are tougher than you. It doesn’t matter if your friend or your neighbor could handle circumstances better than you could. God has made it clear that to be there for others, we must allow God to comfort us. God comforts us through others who are going through similar circumstances — through other people’s creative acts of kindness. Through the Word, prayers, and the love of the people God has surrounded us with, we feel His comfort.

He calls Himself the God of all comfort, and He proves that over and over again.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”
2 Corinthians 1:3-4 ESV

Excerpt by Kathi Lipp, from 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

What if you could actually see God clearer and know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles? You don’t have to keep trying to muster up more grit, willpower, or wisdom on your own. You can tap into the source of true, unfailing strength. How? 

In our new 100-day devotional journal, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, you’ll discover where strength really comes from — Jesus, who holds everything together. As you experience pain, move through daily challenges, or get bogged down by anxieties big or small, you’ll learn to find Him right in the middle of it, ready to strengthen you and give you rest. 

You are stronger than you think because God is closer than you know.

It’s launch day, and we’re celebrating!

To celebrate the release of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, we’re giving away FIVE sets of books – one copy for you and one for a friend!* Each winner can gift her extra copy to a friend or someone in her life who is struggling. Just leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win two copies of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle!

We’re thrilled that this very special book can now be in your hands; get your copy today.

 

Listen to today’s devotion below or subscribe to the (in)courage podcast for our daily devos, read just for you.

*Giveaway open until 2/9/24 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only. 

You’re Not Failing. You’re Learning.

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My 84-year-old mom recently spent several weeks in the hospital battling an infection. During her stay, she lost a lot of physical strength and had to eventually relearn many daily tasks — tasks that once felt easy and familiar to her. At first, simply walking across the room was a chore.

One day, a nurse was helping my mom with an everyday task that she didn’t have quite enough strength to complete. Naturally, it was disappointing to Mom not to be able to do something that would have been a breeze not long before her hospitalization.

Mom’s words bubbled out in frustration: “I feel like I’m failing.”

Then, without skipping a beat, the nurse responded, “You’re not failing. You’re learning.”

Mom took the words to heart, and by the next week, she was doing the task that she thought she had failed.

As much as the nurse’s words were meant for Mom in that moment, they found a tender place in my soul, too. Here’s why: There have been many times in my life where I’ve said those five words to myself: “I feel like I’m failing.”

I felt like I had failed at friendship when it took me three years in a new community to find my people.

I felt like I had failed as a mom when I wasn’t sure how to parent two teenagers through a pandemic.

I felt like I had failed in my writing career when my stack of rejection letters got so high, I was afraid they might get altitude sickness!

I have felt moments of failure in nearly every area of my life at one point or another: in my health goals, my marriage, and even my life as a Christian.

But when I look back, those weren’t failures at all. They were moments to learn and grow. They were opportunities to find strength I didn’t know I had, and to discover a hope I didn’t think was possible.

Like the nurse told my mom, I wasn’t failing; I was learning. Learning how to be human. How to stand up again after facing adversity. How to look back, from time to time, and see how far I’d come.

Failing says, “Give up and walk away before you make a fool of yourself.”
Learning says, “Give yourself grace. You’re getting stronger every day.”

The voice that accuses you of being a constant failure is the voice of your enemy.
The voice that reminds you that you are a work in progress is the voice of your Savior.

From the time you took your first step on this earth, God has been watching you grow. He has been a witness to every one of your mistakes, missteps, and messes, but instead of calling you a failure, He reminds you that your past made you into the woman you are right now. (And He has loved every single version of you, by the way.)

All along, you were learning, not failing.

I love how Solomon describes this as a kind of falling-then-getting-back-up-again way of living. He writes in Proverbs 24:16: “The godly may trip seven times, but they will get up again” (NLT).

The Message paraphrases the verse like this: “No matter how many times you trip them up, God-loyal people don’t stay down long: Soon they’re up on their feet, while the wicked end up flat on their faces.”

Solomon’s words give us the confidence to know that, with God, setbacks aren’t endings but opportunities to grow stronger. Remember that truth the next time your inner critic calls you a failure.

With God, you can trust God’s plan. To which you may say, well duh, Captain Obvious. But sometimes the obvious answer is the right one. Only God knows what His long-range plan is, and how we’re going to get there on a path that includes those so-called “failures.” Only God knows how the messed-up stuff in our lives is building a strength inside of us that we wouldn’t have built any other way.

There will come a time when you’ll look back and see how you grew in ways you didn’t know were possible. Even if you have to wait all the way until you’re 84 years old to see how brave and strong you were all along, may you sense God whispering this in your heart today: “You’re not failing. You’re learning.”

Jennifer’s book, Growing Slow, helps you set aside those feelings of failure, and see yourself as a human being, loved and tended by God as you grow and learn in Him.

 

P.S. Need even more encouragement to see God everywhere and experience His strength for everything? Then grab a copy of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle! This devotional journal features stories from all of your favorite (in)courage writers, plus life-line Scriptures, space to record your own thoughts and prayers, and a way to track how God is personally strengthening you. It releases tomorrow!!

Available on DaySpring, Amazon, or wherever you like to buy books.

 

Listen to today’s devotion below or subscribe to the (in)courage podcast for our daily devos, read just for you.

Pray With Us

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“Pray in the Spirit at all times and on every occasion. Stay alert and be persistent in your prayers for all believers everywhere.”
Ephesians 6:18 NLT

One of our favorite things at (in)courage is making space for prayer. We know prayer is integral to our faith and to building a Christ-centered community. With this in mind, let’s break down Paul’s exhortation in his letter to the Ephesians:

Pray – Talk to God.

in the Spirit  – Acknowledge the presence and power of the Holy Spirit and align your communication with God with His Spirit.

at all times – Pray continually.

and on every occasion. – Let every good and bad occurrence in your life lead you to prayer.

Stay alert – Be watchful and mindful of what’s happening around you and in the lives of others.

and be persistent – Commit to praying and do not give up.

in your payers – Make prayer your personal mission; don’t rely on someone else to do it.

for all believers – Support the body of Christ and be aware of their needs.

everywhere. – Pray for followers of Jesus locally and globally.

As you meditate on Paul’s encouragement, what word stands out to you most? What aspect of prayer do you need to apply in your own life?

Let’s live out this command to “Pray in the Spirit at all times and on every occasion. Stay alert and be persistent in your prayers for all believers everywhere” by praying for one another today.

Leave a comment with your request and then pause to pray for the person ahead of you. If you feel comfortable, share your city, state, or region so we can see how far and wide our prayers are reaching.

 

P.S. Need more encouragement to see God everywhere and experience His strength for everything? Then grab yourself a copy of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle! This devotional journal features stories from all of your favorite (in)courage writers, plus life-line Scriptures, space to record your own thoughts and prayers, and a way to track how God is personally strengthening you. It releases in 2 days!!

Available on DaySpring, Amazon, or wherever you like to buy books.

 

I Meet God at Walmart

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I meet God at Walmart.

Like the day I was blocking the cheese aisle, my toddler dangling his feet from the wire basket of my unwieldy cart. I apologized to the elderly woman waiting to pass through. Robed in a trench coat, mouth hidden under a mask, she looked at me and said something like, “Galatians chapter five, verse twenty-two . . . patience. We’ve got to live it out.” Her throat opened a portal from the heavens and in her voice, I heard the rhythms of a place where there is no rush because there is no time. “Amen,” I said as she stepped past, elegant and slow as if she was walking down the aisle towards the doors of some sudden sanctuary. 

God comes to Aldi, too. Lately, my son has been testing the limits of his nascent autonomy. He is fond of saying No . . . his wide, walnut eyes meeting mine in challenge. My husband and I have begun to discuss the shape of discipline — a necessary parental labor I dread. Nevertheless, in the produce section, amidst the carrots and Brussels sprouts, a middle-aged man struck up a conversation with me about — of all things — discipline. “We have to chastise our kids for their good,” he said.  

I replied to the man that I had just been reading about discipline in Proverbs. He then quoted: “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” Days ago, I’d read that same verse. I tried to quote it with him, but he finished before I could overcome my wonder.

I was stunned. Just that morning, as our son stood whining by the breakfast table, my husband mentioned how we’d need to start giving time-outs . . . or something. Anything to guide our son’s growing, often misguided sense of independence. That morning, I’d told my husband it would be good to ask for advice. And, just like that, God’s kind, present shepherding brought us the truth we needed to hear.

God meets my husband at Walmart, too. Once, my husband popped in for juice and milk while I waited in the parking lot with our son. After an unusually long wait, he finally returned. “I have an incredible story to tell,” he said. 

“I believe it!” I replied. “God works at Walmart.”  

By now, I know those blue vestments sometimes hide incognito angels. My husband shared how he’d been waiting in line, and an associate in a blue apron told him to move to another line. While waiting, he and the man in front of him began to chat. About jazz, about God. My husband noticed the man was holding bandages and other medical items. When the man arrived at the cash register, my husband overheard how his card couldn’t cover everything he needed. The man told the cashier he would put some of the items back, but my husband stepped in to pay the difference. Joyously surprised, the man gave my husband a blessing. 

Later in the car, we talked about the uncanny precision of it all: how before our Walmart trip my husband had picked me up from an event that had ended earlier than anticipated, which allowed us to arrive at Walmart at just the right time. We talked about how my husband was moved to another line for no apparent reason, and how God so loved the man holding an armload of balms — a man seeking to assuage unnamed pains — that He placed a fellow brother there to meet his needs . . . and that God so loved my husband that He would allow him to be, and to receive, a blessing.  

God meets us at Walmart, which is to say, God meets us in our ordinary everydays. He is beautifully and incomprehensibly weaving through our daily lives, appearing in trench coats and masked faces, in Aldi’s fresh produce section, and in Walmart’s interminable lines. In car rides to school and work. In the middle of shoe-shopping or dishwashing or onion-dicing. The divine flashes in a grandeur so subtle we’re likely to miss it.  

And most often I do. Most often, I’m so focused on my drive to work that I miss the violet and clementine tableau of sunrise. Most often, I’m rushing to cram my son’s sneakers on his feet and miss the glory of being near this once-in-a-universe soul birthed from my body. But I still try to be on the lookout. I am trying, by grace, to open my eyes to see the hidden workings of God.

And, oh, there is so much good to see.

When Winter Threatens to Bury You, Chase the Wonder

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We recently drove into Yosemite National Park with friends and entered a surprising Winter Wonderland. In my almost twenty-five years of living in Central California, I have rarely ventured into nearby Yosemite during winter. We typically go in spring when the blooms light up the hills and valleys with rainbow hues, or in summer when the river is robust and trails are ripe for hikers. A trip to see the fall foliage is always worth it for the color show of emerald, gold, and amethyst.

But winter? Winter is not typically my jam.

Winter is cold. The landscape is more stark and barren. Like the woodland creatures, I’m more inclined to hibernate and hunker down at home with my people near a heater. 

I grew up in Chicago where the wind freezes your nose hairs in winter and I attended college in Grand Rapids, which required navigating the snow and icy paths to get to class. I moved to California for the warmth and mild winters the Sunshine State promised.

Yet when we entered the national park, I was filled with a sense of awe at God’s unexpected glory dancing on display before us. The mountains rose majestically around us. The contrast between the steel-gray granite and the bright white snow was stunning. Rows upon rows of trees greeted us with open arms. El Capitan nodded his hello as we rounded the bend, and Half Dome welcomed us with a wink. 

In the Old Testament, after God promised Noah He would never again flood the earth, He said this: “As long as the earth remains, there will be planting and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night” (Genesis 8:22 NLT).

The word winter or “ḥōrep̄” in Hebrew often refers to the cold, a time when the harvest is gathered and the land is quiet. The Hebrews divided the calendar year into six parts. Winter was considered half of January, all of February, and half of March. Winter was used in the Bible as a metaphor for the more mature season of life. 

Psalm 74 reminds us that God controls nature and created the seasons:

“You caused the springs and streams to gush forth,
and you dried up rivers that never run dry.
Both day and night belong to you;
you made the starlight and the sun.
You set the boundaries of the earth,
and you made both summer and winter.”
Psalm 74:15-17 NLT

Winter was part of God’s intention for the rhythms on earth and of our bodies. He could have made forever spring or endless summer, but He chose to weave in winter too. Winter may feel like the opposite of harvest. We may feel like winter seasons in our lives are marked by disappointment, uncertainty, and hardship. Things may look withered, bald, even dead during the winter. 

But what if we were to lean in more to see the wonder in winter? What if we embraced the quiet, the darkness, and the cold as opportunities to turn our faces upward toward the sun?

What I discovered in Yosemite National Park is that winter warrants hope.

I think about the winter of grief I endured after my husband’s death. God showed up in that season with His comforting presence.

I think about the winter of rejection in my career when I kept coming up against closed doors. God built up my courage and resilience.

I think about the winter of loneliness when I wondered who my true friends were. God walked with me in the darkness and provided companionship.

Perhaps the most spectacular exhibit of nature I saw that day at the park was Yosemite Falls. I have seen this same waterfall when the water cascaded down with unbridled force and volume. I have also witnessed it during a drought when the water was more like a bathroom faucet leak. I have zig-zagged to the top of the trail to view the falls from the unique perspective above. 

To see it in winter provided a whole different phenomenon. 

The ice splayed out against the rock in a starburst pattern, while water surged through the middle. I gasped a little when I first saw how water and ice co-mingled against the mountainside. This was a visual reminder that in winter there are unexpected ripples that confirm God is still at work. We may feel buried in the snow, but we may just be on the brink of a breakthrough.

As we were piling back into the car after a walk around the park, snow began to fall in a festival of flurries. Our smiles and spirits turned upward. The flakes were full — each one unique and breathtakingly beautiful.

Dorina helps people discover God’s glory in unexpected places through her weekly Glorygram and Instagram.

 

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

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What Our Ancestry Can and Can’t Tell Us

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Before Christmas, many things I wanted to upgrade or try for the first time went on sale. It takes a strong will to resist a good sale, and I succumbed to purchasing two: upgrading from a yearly subscription to a lifetime membership on an editing software I use, and taking advantage of a special offer on two DNA testing kits. For the latter, my husband and I shipped off sealed containers of (an insane amount of) our saliva and waited.

On Christmas Eve, I received an email that my results were ready. I abandoned all holiday preparations and dove into a genealogy rabbit hole. First, I read the weightier reports: my dad and grandmother both had colorectal cancer, but I don’t have either of the two genetic variants they tested. The tests didn’t detect variants for a host of other conditions either, although they found one associated with age-related macular degeneration and another for a condition characterized by too much iron absorption. The reports said, however, I’m not at increased risk.

I found less serious, quirkier results in the Traits tab, divided into physical features, taste and smell, and weird and wonderful. It confirmed things I already know: there’s a 63% chance I don’t have dimples (I don’t), a 52% chance I have blue eyes (I do), and a 65% chance my ring finger is longer than my index finger (it is). I have higher odds of disliking cilantro (I eat it, but it smells like stinkbugs), am less likely to be able to match a musical pitch (I didn’t need science to confirm this disappointing fact), and am less likely to have thick hair (sad, but true).

Five years ago, I developed an interest in my ancestry and spent hours researching it with help at a genealogy center and later on my own at home. If my results are accurate, I traced my family tree back hundreds of years. I became tangled in its branches, trying to verify relationships with leaders, entertainers, or authors, as if their accomplishments could enhance my own.

I’m not alone in my quest for information about myself and my family. Many of us look for answers about who we are and what makes us tick. We study the results of DNA testing and build ancestry charts. We take online quizzes and interest inventories. We interpret our behavior and personality through the lens of Enneagram numbers or Myers-Briggs types. But tests, even the scientific ones, don’t reveal the complexity of a human being.

According to my DNA, there’s a 72% chance I don’t have a widow’s peak and a 62% chance I don’t have stretch marks, yet I have both. Genetically speaking, I’m more likely to prefer salty, and yet I prefer sweet. These and other unpredictable results comfort me. They remind me I’m a unique individual, not pre-programmed only to look and act in certain ways.

If we let them, what our results say about us can remove our sense of responsibility or box us in, restricting what we attempt to do. (My DNA or personality type is behind my behavior — not my own choices.) Conversely, the Bible expands our possibilities and challenges our thinking by telling us, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13 NKJV). The Holy Spirit within empowers us beyond what we can accomplish on our own.

It’s easy to become distracted by potential connections with people we’ll never know (I’ve done it) and ignore our truest lineage, the miracle at the core of our existences: we’re children of God (1 John 3:1-2 NKJV) and daughters of the King. Jesus calls us His sisters:

“For the one who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one Father. That is why Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters…”
Hebrews 2:11 CSB

Some of us descend from the earthly high and mighty. Others from beggars and thieves. Many are from a mixture of both. But the legacies and DNA of our ancestors don’t define us. Although we can’t trace our relationship to Him on a family tree or through DNA testing, it’s Jesus Christ, our elder brother, whom we should seek to emulate and whose traits and characteristics we should display in our lives and interactions. Let our hope rest in Him.

 

100 life-line Scriptures you need for any struggle you face. That’s what you’ll find in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle. The book is a game-changer! You’ll love the real-life stories of struggle (and hope!) from women just like you, powerful daily verses to anchor your soul to God’s truth, journaling space to process what is speaking to you, and a place to record how God is personally strengthening you!  

Invest in your walk with Jesus and get the daily shift in perspective you need to stay strong in any struggle or storm. Only 5 days left to pre-order, and we want YOU to be one of the first to enjoy this incredible book. Let us know in the comments if you’ve reserved your copy! 

 

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

Quieting the Chorus of Your Self-Doubts

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“Ma’am, pull this black sock over your head and grab a red helmet.”

With the noise of speeding go-karts in the background, I grabbed a red helmet and smiled like I wasn’t about to freak out. My oldest invited me to join him and a group of military officer friends at an indoor go-kart track while I was visiting over Christmas break. I pushed the helmet down over the protective head sock while whispering a prayer for my crushed hair. Then, I breathed another prayer: God, I don’t know what I’m doing. Please help me not embarrass myself. Amen.

Once the helmet’s thick padding dampened the noise around me, my sight sharpened. I glanced around. An uncomfortable warm ooze of self-awareness spread throughout my body. I felt very out of place. I was the only middle-aged woman attempting to drive a go-kart that afternoon.

My inner self took this realization as an opportunity to amp up the random anxious thoughts:

Try not to drive like an old carpool mom…

You know they are all going to pass you…

Maybe today wasn’t the best day to wear boots with heels…

When it was time to fold myself into the tiny go-kart, all my self-doubts crowded in with me. I thought about climbing back out and standing on the sidelines. My helmet only amplified my choir of doubts. But I forced myself to stay in my seat.  With tears in my eyes, I made the decision to believe that I could do this, even if I didn’t do it well.

As soon as the go-flag came down, I jammed my foot on the gas. That little go-kart shot off and I held on. The first curve appeared before I was ready for it, but I drove into the bend, narrowly missing the wall in front of me. I broke out in a thin sheen of sweat and took my foot off the gas for a second. I wanted to give up, but quitting wasn’t an option. I took a deep breath and pressed the gas again. Every curve was a learning curve. Throughout the twelve laps, I figured out what to do and not to do. Other go-karts passed me with more speed and more skill, but I kept driving, learning, and gaining confidence as I went along.

The final results… I came in last place. Not just barely last place, but most solidly and firmly in last place. But I did it. I was last, but I won the battle to believe that I could do it. I won the even bigger battle of not beating myself up for failing to do it well.

Too often, it’s our fear of failure or embarrassment that keeps us from stepping out in courage or faith. What would you like to do that you’ve never done before? What’s been stopping you from saying “yes,” whether it’s to something big or small? Perhaps you’re like me and you’re starting to wonder if you’re too old, if you don’t fit in, or if it’s too late. These are a part of that chorus of self-doubt that wants you to believe that it’s best not to put yourself out there.

Here’s what I want you to know today: I believe that God has a great adventure of faith and purpose for your life. That adventure never needs to be perfect. Stepping out in faith doesn’t require perfection. Stepping out in faith IS success. Period. Part of the adventure is that God gives you the grace of each day to keep figuring things out!

I appreciate the words of an ancient prophet, Jeremiah, who witnessed both epic failures and flashes of faith from God’s people. They’d failed to trust God and were struggling in captivity. But, their failures didn’t stop God’s faithfulness to them. Known as the weeping prophet, Jeremiah empathizes with their distress and offers the following reminder of hope to meet them in their hopelessness:

“Great is his faithfulness;
    his mercies begin afresh each morning.”
Lamentations 3:23 NLT

Every day, God gives you a chance to try again. God’s faithfulness isn’t stymied by your fears, flaws, or failures. You can stand up and fall down a thousand times and God is the first voice whispering, “Trust Me. Try again. You can do this.” The brilliance of God is that He can, even when we cannot. His mercy meets you and me at the dawn of each day. Failure is never fatal with God. No matter how many times you’ve doubted yourself or failed, God offers a divine do-over. He promises that as you let His Spirit guide your life, freedom and victory are waiting for you.

Today’s question:

If you weren’t afraid to take a risk and you knew that God had called you to it, what would you do? Tell us about it in the comments and we can pray for you!

Life can be so painfully heavy. But you don’t have to carry it all on your own. Really. There is a God who is ready and willing to carry you! Your part is to simply unclench your firsts, stop grasping for control, and instead surrender all to God. We know this is easier said than done, so let your friends at (in)courage show you how.

Our new book, 100 Days of Strength for Any Struggle will be out in just 6 days! Order your copy now so you can start experiencing more of God’s strength every day.  

 

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

God Is With You in Your Grief

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Science says the moon makes Earth’s tides swell. It says the two — earth and moon — are tethered to one another through gravitational force, and all of Earth’s oceans rage when the moon waxes full and strong.

When I stand at my grandfather’s grave for the first time in the two years since his burial, I stand there under a waxing moon and in the swell of my own oceans undulating under the hold of grief’s gravity. There I am, between the trees, standing in the chill of an arctic air mass with no scarf, no hat. I want to move my mouth and make words come from my lips, but I cannot, with my face frozen in New York’s cold, bitter wind. 

A pile of bones I am, shivering and shaking, putting off all I want to say to my grandfather, laid low beneath the ground. Can I really whisper confessions aloud into the wind, telling him how it feels like he, just days ago, slipped his way through the back door of my townhome? It feels like just yesterday he walked up my stairs and sang a song or two to his mesmerized great-grandson.

I want to look long and loving, one last time, into his face; I want to memorize the constellation of freckles on his cheeks and smooth that furrow in his brow. I want to tell him not to worry, that I’m okay, we’re all okay. And then I’d cry somewhere where he wouldn’t see me, so my tears don’t hold him back from earth’s release. 

As long as I live, I will never again touch the hands of my grandfather. I will walk out the rest of my brief time on this earth wanting him and missing him. Needing him but not having him. And, as with all my grief? The many ways in which I carry the weight of lost friends and lost dreams? The way I cradle a fractured faith and that fearful dread of all the other ways the world will take and take. Things fracture, and grief is inevitable. And my heart will always wring out trauma’s tears, cried and spilled out, ever mourning the way life breaks and betrays and borrows without returning that which should belong. 

And you. 

Your life will also thrash with the gravity of grief, its waves rising and falling in and through the seasons. Little losses, and your fear of them, will loom. They will stand unknown and unseen by others. Demanding attention but falling dimly into the background. Sometimes the dreams will fade and bodies will fail. Some days fear will fill as futures fall away, further still. 

And, you know the holidays will hollow holes inoperable into that holding heart of yours. Every cycle of the sun, every Christmas on the calendar, every empty chair at the Easter table, every birthday with no candles to blow. 

But there is this — the truth of the fact that God is with you in your grief, giving space for sorrow, welcoming you as you slowly find your way. He greets you in your grief before going on to glory, to heaven. He waits with you as you grope and groan for words that give language to loss—all those, little and large. He stops and he stoops, lays low, right there with you in the suspension of all things. He blesses you . . . even in your brokenness, even as you beg for kingdom come. For new earth, new world. 

I want to be the one to tell you that this is why your losses — all those large and little — matter. Losses are longings that look like God’s heart. They point to the places in us that ache for what has been lost, and they ache when the world isn’t as it should be, could be. 

We grieve not only in the absence of these lost things but also in the mere presence of pain. I couldn’t tell you to put that away any more than I could tell the moon to sever its tie with Earth. I can, however, bestow a blessing. Words I’ll leave to lead you as you feel grief, fight grief, fear grief:

One day we will all ascend like Christ into heaven — to that place with no pandemics, no pain, no shootings, no sorrows. No tragedies, no tears, no disease, no death. For now, though, let there be heaven on earth. 

Let there be God of heaven over us.
Let there be God of heaven with us.  

Amen. 

—

Your grief isn’t something to get over.

Like paper cuts to the heart, every loss — the loss of friendships, dreams, health, innocence, and everything in between — grieves us more than we think it will, and often more than we let on. But what if it’s time to give language to the loss we’ve lived through? What if it’s time to give voice to the grief we carry?

In her compassionate and deeply personal book, The Matter of Little Losses: Finding Grace to Grieve the Big (and Small) Things, Rachel Marie Kang shines a light on all the things we lose along the way. Through poetry, poignant storytelling, and reflective explorations of art and faith, Rachel guides you to:

  • ponder your loss without judgment
  • remember what was and make meaning of your memories
  • reflect on what is yet to be as you reach for hope.

You don’t have to bury your grief, and you don’t have to pretend you’re over your loss. Let this poetic book be a balm for your brokenness, giving space for sorrow and welcoming you to grieve the things that always mattered — and always will.

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 Rachel. 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 2/4/24 to US addresses only. Winners will be contacted via email.

 

P.S. In just 7 days, our new (in)courage book, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, will be available!!

God’s tender love and care are on display in countless ways – but so often we miss it because we’re not paying attention. Be inspired to pay closer attention to God’s fingerprints in your life and the strength He is offering you. TEN devotions in our new book are all about PAYING ATTENTION. We know these stories will delight you, surprise you, and tug on your heartstrings. You are stronger than you think because God is closer than you know. Grab your copy now from DaySpring, Amazon, or wherever books are sold.

How Love Can Meet All Your Pent-up Pain

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A few days before Labor Day we got new neighbors — eight young adults to be exact. Four young men and four young women in their twenties moved in next door.

My husband and I launched a new ministry called “The Hope House,” in which we invited this specific group of people to live 43 steps away from us. We call it our great experiment. We set out to guide others in the discipline and art of Christian community. The guys occupy the downstairs quarters of the house, while the girls have a separate living space upstairs. Between the Hope House family and my family, there are fifteen people, three kitchens, two cats, and one laundry room (in our garage wedged between the bikes and the litter box to be precise).

Over the first couple of weeks of our Hope House neighbors settling in, I noticed that one of the young adults, Skyler, would wander in and out of our house. He typically landed at our kitchen counter with a hypothetical situation or a hilarious story about his day. Over tea and washing dishes, we would chat about faith, family, loss, love, and the life of Christ. Dinner was always on the stove. My phone was always dinging with demands. But, through interruptions, distractions, and sometimes retelling hard stories, our chats would linger.

One particular evening, while Skyler recounted a painful experience from his past, his face became flushed and his eyes filled with tears. He lifted his round Harry Potter glasses and with the back of his hand, he began to intercept the unwelcome leaking. While apologizing, he swiped the visible outpouring of his heart onto the sleeve of his sweatshirt and tried to hide his shame. But, sometimes the pain we’ve tucked away and tried to tame brazenly disobeys. Like a dog in training, we demand our sadness go back into submission. But that night, for a brief moment, his feelings defied a lifetime of discipline and dismissal, and refused to comply. Tears down his face. Tears shed into a soaked sleeve. Years of untold stories in the shape of liquid diamonds were finally allowed to breathe while his soul could beautifully be seen.

Sometimes, we don’t have enough strength to get to the table where God meets us (Psalm 23). In those moments, God brings the table right to us. I think that night was one of those nights for Skyler.

God pulled up a table for all of that pent-up pain to be met with the patient love of Christ.

First Corinthians 13:4 says, “Love is patient…”.  I can easily overlook what patience really means. When I think about being patient, I think about not rushing my kids to put their shoes on or not getting bothered by long lines. But, I think it means more than that. I am learning that love, at its core, is patient. Love is slow. For love to foster, transform, and change us, we need unhurried grace to guide us. Sometimes this grace comes in the form of sickness, interruptions, and unexpected problems. Grace whispers, “Slow down. Wait. There is no need to hurry.”

“You need to be patient with your pain,” my own spiritual director recently said. Patient? I nearly laughed. That is the last thing I want. I want my pain gone, fixed, compacted, processed and put out on the curb Wednesday morning with all the other trash cans. Yet, here was my spiritual director pulling up Christ’s table for me when I was choking on my grief.

When we think about the table, oftentimes we think of a feast. There is bread, savory foods, lit candles, joy-filled toasts, with wine spilling over. I believe this is true of Christ’s table. At the table, there is abundance and laughter and warmth. But, more and more, I am discovering that spotlights, scalpels, gauze, bandaids, water, and anesthesia are there too. Our souls undergo surgery on the operating table of God’s grace and mercy. Surgery is remarkably precise, and, yes — slow. And that’s the way we want it. Don’t rush heart surgery.

Our hearts are slow to change. Yet, we want everything instant. We want instant growth, instant healing, instant fixes, instant caffeine to revive us midday. We want things done fast and efficiently. But, at the table, God offers us love — the patient kind of love. The kind that cares less about accomplishing something and more about becoming something.

God is patient with us. He is slow with us. He is unhurried with us. He isn’t bothered by how long it takes us to get our act together or just get.it.right. Perhaps allowing people to change slowly is one of the greatest ways we can love each other. And for ourselves, perhaps letting the love of God do slow surgery in our hearts is one of the greatest gifts we can ever receive. We are not just becoming patient, we are the patient.

We are beloved children of God. God leads us well even when it seems like He is backtracking, distracted, or spending far too long gazing at the golden skyline as the darkness is closing in like monstrous shadows.

God knows the way. He knows your heart needs the grace gift of slowness. God is a patient, loving, caretaker who wanders and meanders through the backroads of your story to heal your hidden heart and savor every single tear. Time is not His concern. His sole purpose and joy is to be with you, just as you are, and offer you the loving hope of His presence.

Be patient with the process because there is nowhere else you need to be right now — but here.

 

P.S. After nearly five years of serving this beautiful community, this will be my last time writing for (in)courage. I step away from the gift of this place in order to step more fully into all that God is inviting me into in this new season, which includes The Hope House. I love you and am so grateful to have shared my stories with you. Love always, Anjuli 

 

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

A Promise for the Spiritually Hungry

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“What sign, then, are you going to do so we may see and believe you?” they asked. “What are you going to perform? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, just as it is written: He gave them bread from heaven to eat.”

Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, Moses didn’t give you the bread from heaven, but my Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is the one who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

Then they said, “Sir, give us this bread always.”

“I am the bread of life,” Jesus told them. “No one who comes to me will ever be hungry, and no one who believes in me will ever be thirsty again.”
John 6:30-35 (CSB)

The people were asking for a miracle because Jesus had fed the five thousand the day before. They had just witnessed abundance like they had never seen, but they were hungry again — but hungry for the wrong thing. They were asking for another sign, for sustenance that wouldn’t last, and Jesus was telling them that He could satisfy them for always. He was pointing them to the best source of fulfillment, to the very thing they were looking for but didn’t know they had in front of them — Himself, the Bread of Life.

Only Jesus can satisfy us completely, in a way where we won’t be hungry again in the ways of our flesh. Instead, when we know Jesus, we’ll want more of Him, and the promise stays the same: no one who goes to Him will ever be hungry. We will continually be filled by Him.

May today be a day of filling for you, friends.

This Is Your Permission Slip to Step Way Back

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I squatted down next to my garden beds, inspecting the soil for the fifth time that week.

Squinting at the surface, I desperately searched for seedlings beginning to burst through the ground. I had been waiting for weeks for the first signs of life and made all the preparations possible to ensure a perpetual harvest. But after weeks of sowing and watering and waiting, it was time for me to accept the truth: my garden had been going strong for too long. It needed to lie fallow.

As I stood there, staring at this depleted soil, I reflected on my depleted soul. We had both been going non-stop since early 2020 without any time to rest or recover. I had pulled it together and pushed through the pandemic, homeschooling, my husband’s job change, my son’s Autism diagnosis, and an extremely demanding ministry position. I had been going strong for too long. Perhaps it was time for me to lie fallow. 

Fallowing ground is a gardening practice where soil is left unplanted for a season so it can rest and regenerate. The dictionary definition refers to it as being “unused or unproductive for a time.” The mere idea makes our skin crawl, doesn’t it? We don’t like being unproductive. We don’t like slowing down. Not in this culture. Not in this day and age. We feel like we have to keep going and going and going, non-stop. But we weren’t created for this pace, this pressure. We were designed to slow down, sometimes even coming to a complete stop.

The concept of fallow ground appears in Exodus 23:11. God instructs the Israelites, “During the seventh year let the land lie unplowed and unused.” They were to leave the land unused, uncultivated, and unproductive for an entire year to allow the soil, and themselves, time to recover. This command mimics the rhythm of the Sabbath, setting apart the seventh day as holy unto the Lord. It’s almost as if the Creator of the universe knew that our land, and our souls, needed rest, so He told us to do just that. 

Constant productivity depletes soil of its life, vitality, and nutrients. Without seasons of rest, the land simply can’t produce any more fruit — and neither can we. The work and worries of this world daily drain us of our energy and vitality, and if we don’t take a step back, we, like soil, will become increasingly depleted . . . eventually unable to even produce any fruit at all.  

After pushing through the last several years and becoming completely and utterly depleted, my garden and I took a much-needed break. The two of us have been sitting, waiting, and wintering for a while now. Still, that doesn’t mean we’ve been stagnant.

When soil lies fallow, there is a lot of unseen activity. Nutrients rise to the surface. The capacity of the soil increases. Microscopic life is restored. To the naked eye, this might look like nothing. And, because it looks like nothing, we think it’s a waste. But God is always at work, even when we can’t see it. 

In this season of recovery, God has been doing a deep work in me. Energy is slowly returning. My capacity is steadily increasing. Joy and patience are rising to the surface. On the outside, not much seems to be happening, but internally, I’m coming back to life.  

This fallow season has also been a holy one. God is repairing and restoring all my weary, worn-out spaces. Under the surface, something unique and profound is happening — He is turning fallow ground into hallowed ground. 

If the last few years have drained and depleted you, if you, too, have been going strong . . . it might be time to lie fallow. This is your permission slip to step way back and slow way down for a season. To make space for God to restore and refresh you, bringing you back to life.  

May God set you free from the need to keep going no matter the cost. May He show how to pull back instead of pushing through. May He bless this fallow season by restoring and refreshing your depleted soul. And may you recognize this time — this space — as hallowed, fallow ground.

Don’t Leave Before the Miracle

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I watch a lot of Hallmark movies.

As anyone who watches or reads a lot of love stories knows, the two main characters almost always have a big fight, leaving the viewer or reader to wonder if all is lost — only to see the couple miraculously work out their differences and begin a life together.

It’s a tried and true formula, which is a big part of why many of us love these stories. We know what to expect, and we’re not often taken by surprise.

But when I watched what would end up being my favorite Hallmark holiday movie of the 2023 season, I was startled by one line uttered as one main character gave up on the other one. In “Round and Round,” a time loop romantic comedy about a magical dreidel and a woman living the same day seven times, the man she’s fallen in love with gets his feelings hurt and storms out of the house.

Or, he tries to storm. Because the movie takes place in the winter, he has to wade through a pile of coats to find his own before braving the cold. As he’s doing that, his best friend tries to convince him to stay. As the only other person who knows about the time loop and understands how amazing their circumstances are, this friend says, “Don’t leave before the miracle.”

Don’t leave before the miracle.

I’ve been stuck in what feels a bit like a time loop myself. Day after day, I wake up and go about my business only to be smacked in the face by some kind of difficulty, some kind of pain, some kind of trauma. I get a phone call or an email; I open a door or pull out a drawer to find a hidden sin; I discover one more layer of suffering. When I say the hard things have been nonstop for the past few months, I am not exaggerating.

Not that long ago, I faced seasons like this with my shoulders set and my eyes focused on the Lord, the One I knew was with me every step of the way. I envisioned myself as Wonder Woman crossing No Man’s Land, withstanding blow after blow as she shielded herself with both her magical armor and her determination. Sure, the challenges were constant and overwhelming, but I wasn’t alone and I believed God would take me through the battle, giving me strength to face every attack and then healing my wounds.

It’s not that I don’t believe that anymore; I do. I believe God is always with us and will guide us when we can’t find our way. I believe He will give us the strength we need when we need it. I believe He is near to the brokenhearted, covering us and protecting us and holding us close.

But I also know now that we simply cannot walk through every season like Wonder Woman. Sometimes we can’t take another step and we fall on our face. Sometimes we absolutely can keep walking — the other way, as fast and far away as we can get from the troubles plaguing us.

And that’s when God not only gives us the strength and comfort we need but urges us: “Don’t leave before the miracle.”

Don’t give up.
Don’t believe you’re alone.
Don’t run away.
Don’t give into the lie that God won’t show up this time.
Don’t leave before the miracle.

Because there will be a miracle.

Reading about the Israelites can also feel a bit like watching (or living) a time loop, where the same thing happens over and over again. Here’s how that story goes: God’s chosen people love the Lord and follow Him, then they choose to walk their own way, and when they experience the consequences of their sin, they cry out to God for help. The book of Isaiah addresses their repeated mistakes and warns of the dire consequences they’ll experience as a result.

But Isaiah isn’t just a book of warnings and bad news. It’s also a book of hope.

Isaiah assured God’s people that God had not forgotten them and would not ignore them or leave them alone. He passed along God’s messages, promising to hold their hand (41:13), to make a way in the wilderness (43:19), and to always be with them and help them (41:10).

Because of the words of Isaiah and the other Old Testament prophets, the Israelites knew God would not leave them alone in their pain and problems. They trusted that He had a plan. They believed that a miracle (a Messiah) was coming. And while they waited, they experienced a miracle in the hope that the Messiah would someday arrive.

The miracle was coming, and the miracle was already here.

Sometimes the miracle looks like actual healing, a literal rescue, a physical change in circumstances. Sometimes the miracle is a friend to walk with you, a message to remind you of Truth, the memory of all the times God has been there for you in the past.

And sometimes the miracle is simply knowing that the Lord is with you — whether you’re standing strong, lying on your face, or running away from it all. He is the miracle, and He is here.

Don’t give up, friend. Don’t leave before receiving the Miracle.

 

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

Expectations vs. Expectancy: What You Need to Know for 2024

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I’m wrestling through something and I want to invite you on the journey with me because I think it has deep and wide significance for us all.

I want to talk about expectations versus expectancy.

It’s easy to start a new year with a lot of expectations. Shoot — it’s easy to live every day with a lot of expectations. Whether you’re thinking about your family, your job, your education, retirement, relationships, ministry, health, or dreams, it’s natural to wonder and hope for what’s to come. If you’re a glass-half-full kind of gal, you likely expect good things! Growth, blessing, provision, progress, success! If you lean toward pessimism (or salty realism), you probably expect obstacles, disappointments, and setbacks.

Either way, you’re likely well on your way to planning (or bracing) for the year ahead. I know I’ve got fitness goals and business benchmarks I want to meet. I’m striving toward big dreams as well as trying to sustain small habits. I have expectations for my marriage, my kids, my house plants, and the aggravating pain in my elbow.

But I’ve got to be honest here… sometimes I grapple with whether it’s okay to expect things.

Proverbs 19:21 reminds us, “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails” (NIV). Aren’t the plans in our hearts another way of saying our expectations? But if God’s purpose will prevail regardless of what we expect, then is that a call to lay down our expectations? 

Likewise, I’ve heard many sermons on surrendering our plans for God’s will. (I’ve probably spoken and written about this myself!) The prophet Jeremiah wrote, “Lord, I know that people’s lives are not their own; it is not for them to direct their steps” (Jeremiah 10:23 NIV). Verses like this convict my heart and compel me to pray, Lord, strip me of all my expectations! I want You alone to direct my steps, not my limited and preconceived notions of what is best. 

I believe this is a good prayer. Gripping too tightly to our expectations limits our ability to see God blow them out of the water.

But here’s what God has been showing me: Acknowledging that God can (and does) blow our expectations out of the water is our invitation to exchange our expectations of outcomes for the expectancy of His actions.

To say it another way, stop focusing on what you want to happen and start focusing on what God will make happen.

Jesus said, “I am the vine; you are the branches. The one who abides in me and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).

God promises to make our lives fruitful — when we abide in Him.

I learned my favorite definition of abide from my friend Marshawn Evans Daniels: “To abide means to live in a state of expectancy.” 

God wants to do good things in your life! You are His image bearer. His divinely chosen daughter. He wants to grow in you the fruit of His Spirit. He wants to empower you to bear fruit that reflects His love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control — not barely enough, not an adequate amount, but much! This reflects God’s heart for His kids! He is a God of abundance, a God of plenty, a God of good gifts — more than enough!

The Psalmist David declares, “Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4 NIV). Delighting in God goes hand-in-hand with abiding in Him, and remaining tethered to Him. When the Lord is our focus and delight, the desires of our hearts will supernaturally align with His. 

When I consider this, I can’t help but be expectant, I can’t help but be filled with confident hope for the things to come!

As the Community and Editorial Manager for (in)courage, I’ve felt the Spirit inviting us to adopt this posture of abiding expectancy as a community. Rather than setting goals for more podcast downloads or outlining a grand plan for new ministry directives, I feel God calling us to listen, wait, watch. Abide deeply with Jesus and watch expectantly for how He will lead and what He will accomplish in and through us.

So for 2024, let’s choose to let go of expectations and lean into expectancy. 

Let’s shift from asking, “What will I do this year?” to “Lord, what kind of fruit will You bear?”

Whether you are new to reading (or listening) to (in)courage, or you’ve been with us since 2009, we are SO glad you’re part of this community! Our heart is to serve you well with our daily devotions, weekday podcast, books, Bible studies, and Instagram encouragement. Why? Because we love Jesus — and we know you do too — and we want to remember together WHO He is, see HOW He is working in our lives, and learn WHAT it looks like to become more like Him.

I am so expectant for the ways the Lord is going to shape us, grow us, and guide us this year. Thanks for being here.

I’d love to hear from YOU! Choose at least one question to answer:

  1. What expectation is God asking you to lay down?
  2. Where is God leading you to look expectantly for Him?
  3. How did you find (in)courage and what does this place mean to you?

As a thank you for being part of our community, we’ll pick two commenters to win $50 to shop at DaySpring.com.*

“I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Romans 15:13 NLT

 

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

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 1/29/24.

Change and Loss May Linger But THIS Is Also True…

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I took in the bounty presented on two large tables: ham, scalloped potatoes, green bean casserole, three different kinds of jello salad, and a chocolate sheet cake. Standing in my childhood church’s familiar fellowship hall, I could pretend it was 1985 when eleven-year-old me looked at offerings from the same recipes prepared by many of the same ladies. I have so many good memories in that church and fellowship hall. And yet, the day I spent there in the winter of 2018 was a very different kind of day from those potluck gatherings I remember from my growing-up years.

This fellowship hall gathering followed my dad’s memorial service.

Yet, as I put a bit of ham, potatoes, and green beans on my plate, I smiled because it felt like Dad was still here. After all, how many times had I sat next to him in this same room?

Since losing my dad six winters ago, I have “sat down” with him, figuratively speaking, many times. I’ve told him everything from general thoughts to life updates, such as, “You’d have enjoyed today’s graduation ceremony. You should see Faith on the tennis courts! I think you’d love this book I’m working on.”

I share other truths, too, like how much I still miss him.

Because I lost Dad during winter — and because we lost my dear father-in-law only a month after my dad — this time of year carries an extra veil of gray coldness for me. I’m sure the time of year you lost someone you dearly loved is color-washed gloomy, too, even years later. That’s one of the hardest things about difficult change that involves much loss: its shadows can follow you for seasons well beyond when the loss occurred.

My dad died in his 70s after a long battle with MS, and he suffered no small amount from it in his latter years of life. I’m comforted by the fact that when God chose to bring him home, He also ended Dad’s physical pain. And while I miss him here on earth, there is extreme gratitude that he’s now walking whole and healthy in heaven, talking with Jesus, and no doubt hoping to convince his favorite country music artist, Johnny Cash, to sing a duet with him.

In my dad’s case, while my family and I didn’t know exactly when he would leave this earth, we knew it would be sooner than later. My heart goes out to those who not only lost someone when it wasn’t exactly a surprise, like I did, but to those whose loss of a loved one was a shock, a sudden tragedy.

From Scripture, we know Mary pondered the life events she experienced and treasured them in her heart when Jesus was a baby and a child. I wonder, though, what did she ponder after His death? Perhaps she treasured her many good memories of Jesus as a young’un, such as the way He looked when He was deep in thought or the way He lit up when she made His favorite meal. And while she eventually came to know that He had to die to fulfill His Father’s plan for Him on earth, I’m sure it took a good deal of time to move through the grief of His death.

I read a beautiful poem by George Herbert shortly after Christmas Day, and I’m still reflecting on it now. An excerpt of it goes,

“O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light, Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger…”

It’s an image of light encased in darkness that shows up suddenly in an unexpected place. About this poem, author Janet Morley muses that Herbert “…resolves the light/darkness opposition in a way that sees both as positive.”

I’m not one who usually sees darkness as a positive. I’ll always gravitate to a chair near a window, not the one in a dark corner. I want to bask in the light. Yet, I’ve learned not to be so afraid of the dark or the sad feelings that come with it. Of course, I’ll never imply that we should slap on a happy heart about death and loss and see it only positively. No. But the fact that God’s light can be found in the deepest dark is a positive providing epic hope in God’s epic hands.

Because of Christ’s coming, His death, and His eventual return, not even the darkness of death and loss can outrun His redemptive light. Even darkness is as light to Him.

“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”
(1 Corinthians 15:55 NIV).

When all you see is darkness in the loss of your personal cold, gray winter, know that the light is there, waiting to show up suddenly in an unexpected place. Perhaps this is the legacy the darkness leaves… a more visible place to witness the Light. And in the meantime, we can take comfort in memories of our loved ones, treasuring them in our hearts while also knowing that one day, because of Jesus, every negative will become a positive.

For more encouragement during difficult loss and change, visit here.

 

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

A Precious Gift in the Middle of Tough Times

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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

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

You’ll find 100 devotions divided up into 10 key themes all designed to give you the spiritual strength you need for any struggle you face. The devotions are paired with Scripture and journaling space so you can process with God and have a written record of how He strengthens you!

Order your copy today; we cannot wait for you to read this book.

 

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