Gratitude Opens Our Eyes to Seeing God at Work

Gratitude Opens Our Eyes to Seeing God at Work

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“Let the whole earth shout triumphantly to the Lord!
Serve the Lord with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
Acknowledge that the Lord is God.
He made us, and we are his—
his people, the sheep of his pasture.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise.
Give thanks to him and bless his name.
For the Lord is good, and his faithful love endures forever;
his faithfulness, through all generations.”
Psalm 100 CSB

Here’s the powerful truth about giving thanks:

Gratitude lifts our hearts beyond the weight of our circumstances to the unfailing goodness of God. As Psalm 100 invites us to, we can enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise. In deep pain, in prolonged waiting, even in the middle of life’s small inconveniences, choosing thankfulness becomes a pathway to God’s presence.

When we turn our attention to God’s faithfulness, our perspective changes.

Gratitude opens our eyes to see God working right here, right now.

Whether we’re giving thanks for the beauty of fall, the laughter of loved ones, or the reminder of His promises, each moment of thankfulness is a moment spent in the light of His love.

Write down what you’re grateful for: today’s blessings, memories of God’s goodness, and promises you’re holding onto. Speak them aloud, jot them in a journal, or share them with someone you trust. Let this practice turn your heart to praise, for “the Lord is good and His love endures forever.”

And as we take time to count our blessings, know that you are counted among ours. Every one of you in this community — readers and listeners and writers alike — is a gift for which we give thanks. Thank you for letting us share in your journey of faith and for sharing your own stories with us. We are grateful for you, today and always.

Happy Thanksgiving, dear friends!

When We Are Afraid

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I have a complicated relationship with fear.

Like many kids, I was afraid of the imagined things that could find me in the dark. As a tween, I became afraid of the man who would stop his lawn care and maintenance every afternoon to glare at me. Every day when I walked by his house on my way home from school in broad daylight, he would do the same thing. I would scurry past, confused and afraid of his locked stare on me for as long as he could spot me on the sidewalk.

He never followed me or said anything to me, but his gaze was cold as ice. He’d look me over while he stood there holding up whatever tool he was using (like a weapon), his long blonde hair tied in a messy ponytail. He often wore button-up Hawaiian shirts covered in flowers and bright, happy colors, while the look on his face betrayed his attire. To this day, I don’t know why he glared at me, but I know I felt particularly afraid and aware of being a small girl with skin and hair much darker than his.

Fear can be a powerful motivator. It can stay in the body for a long time.

I was in fifth grade the first time a Christian used fear to motivate me away from wonder.

Back then, I knew a few things about Jesus, but neither I nor my family were considered “church people.” At that age, science, nature, and history filled me with a wild wonder and curiosity.

On a Monday at school, while walking back to the classroom after outside gym class, a new friend asked me what I’d done over the weekend. I told her about my trip to the natural history museum. I described the wooden evolution mural that had fascinated me. Her face scrunched together, and with eyes boring into my own, she immediately said, “You know that’s wrong, right?”

I thought about saying yes as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I couldn’t rewind and erase the excitement and fascination I’d just held in my voice, so I asked a question instead:

“Why is it wrong?”

She stood up straight and said, “Evolution isn’t Christian.”

Her quick defense of something I didn’t even really understand made me feel afraid. This friend didn’t intend to do that; she just passed on the fear she’d been given. The only invitation in her words was to make sure I was on the right side of a fence that I didn’t even know existed just moments before. I stood there like a deer in headlights, suddenly aware of oncoming traffic from both directions. This isn’t an article on creation versus evolution, by the way; this is about the way fear can resurrect barriers between two people or groups of people that are all made in the image of God.

Fear motivates and it multiplies. Sometimes it just lies.

As a child my fear kept me away from others. That kind of fear made me panic. That kind of fear made me hide the questions I really had. That fear made me judgmental and quick to squash curiosity.

Years later, I would learn that the Hebrew word for fear — yirah — used in verses in Deuteronomy and Proverbs to exhort people to “fear the Lord” meant more than what I’d experienced as a child. Yirah also means reverence, wonder, and awe.

In the New Testament, the Greek words phobon and phobos are also translated as fear — the kind of fear I experienced from a stranger on the sidewalk and my friend on the blacktop. This is the word John uses when he writes that “perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18 NIV).

Jesus, perfect love personified, is the One who led me back to Him through that same wonder and curiosity I had in the natural history museum decades before.

It seems like there’s a lot of fear in our conversations and communities these days. It reminds me of the conversation I had with my friend on the blacktop. We’re still friends today, and we’ve both grown quite a bit. It’s easy to be bullied by someone else’s fear or pain, or to bully others with our own – even when we think we’re trying to push for what we are so sure we know is right. But I think of myself back then and the way this kind of fear didn’t really lead me closer to Jesus, but to a version of Him that would keep me hiding, panicked, worried there was something wrong with me – the same way I felt when I walked by that scary neighbor’s house.

God’s kingdom come isn’t coming through glaring eyes or finger-wagging. God’s kingdom come is coming through the perfect love of Jesus.

When I feel that same fear creep up in me, I say a breath prayer: Jesus.

When I feel tempted to respond to someone else in fear, I whisper the same breath prayer: Jesus.

May Jesus dispel the lie that love is too simple, too slow, too weak, too difficult, too impossible, or too woo-woo to hold us and all of our wonder and curiosity, and lead the way.

 

Changing the Way We Talk to Ourselves

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I’m sharing chips and salsa with a friend on a summer evening. Outside the sky is clear blue, but clouds hang over our conversation. She’s in a difficult season, trying to navigate challenges she’s never faced before.

“I’m a failure,” she says. With these words, I watch her hunch over as if she’s curling into a protective ball. She crosses her arms over her chest, a defensive move. She won’t make eye contact with me anymore. Everything her about her body language communicates, I don’t feel safe.

I see no threats in the taco shop. No tigers hiding out behind the stacks of tortillas. No masked men waiting to steal our salsa. My queso is certainly not a source of intimidation. What is happening?

Sitting across from my friend reminded me of one of the biggest aha moments on my own healing journey: The way we talk to and about ourselves can make us feel unsafe.

Dr. Bernard Golden says, “Self-criticism itself is a threat to our emotional and physical well- being…. And just as the brain developed in the context of a relationship with others, the relationship we have with ourselves also has the potential to put us in a state of threat. Self- criticism and the anger associated with it can very much lead us to experience the same ‘fight-flight-freeze’ response we might experience in response to an external threat.”

My friend’s comment of “I’m a failure” triggered a fear response in her just as those words would have coming from someone else. Sometimes the most unsafe place in our lives is our own minds.

I thought of this on a recent evening when I attended a gathering for local artists and writers who create based on Scripture. One passage for the evening came from Acts 10, when God gives Peter a vision of a sheet coming down from heaven with different animals in it that Peter would have seen as unclean.

But God says, “Do not call anything impure that God has made clean” (Acts 10:15 NIV). This vision is a precursor to Peter going to the house of a Gentile named Cornelius. When Peter arrives, he says, “God has shown me that I should no longer think of anyone as impure or unclean” (Acts 10:28 NLT).

As I heard this passage, it seemed God whispered to my heart…
Do not call yourself impure if God has made you clean.

I began to think of all the things we call ourselves, and what God would say He has made us instead.

Do not call yourself a sinner if God has made you forgiven and holy.
Do not call yourself unwanted if God has made you chosen and treasured.
Do not call yourself unworthy if God has made you an honored daughter or son.
Do not call yourself “not good enough” if God has made you in His image.
Do not call yourself unloved if God has made you His beloved.

Our inner critic may have harsh words for us, but the voice of our loving God will always bring us back to our true identity and feeling safe with Him.

I look at my friend who has just said she’s a failure, her shoulders still hunched, her face still downcast. “You’re not a failure,” I tell her, “You’re loved. You’re doing hard things. You’re going to be okay.” She lifts her head and smiles, reaches for the basket in front of us. “Chips and salsa help,” she says. I certainly agree.

My hope for the two of us, and you, is that when we are in the car on the drive home, when we wake up and stare at the ceiling in the night, when we do mess up, that we will be able to say words to ourselves and each other that remind us of our belovedness.

Let’s take a gentle, holy pause to practice this together:

What does God want to speak to your heart today, and what might He want to speak to someone else today through you?

Do not call yourself _____________ if God has made you _____________.

If you want daily reminders of who you really are and how much you’re loved, you’ll find them in Holley Gerth’s devotional book, 365 Truths for Every Woman’s Heart (download a free excerpt). It’s also a beautiful Christmas gift for every woman in your life who needs encouragement!

Risk Is the Seed of Redemption

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A few days ago, my husband and I drove down a familiar road in an established area of our city. Trees that have existed for decades upon decades waved over our path, their fall leaves showing off in the late morning sun. Even though the trees had endured storms of every kind, they stood as sentries, witnesses of what had taken place in this part of town for almost one hundred years.

We passed by one street that led to the home we shared for three years right after our honeymoon. The home where we housed five children whom I did not give birth to, and eventually a sixth child who camped out in my womb eleven days past her due date. I can still hear my daughter’s jabbers and squeals as she toddled through the house and interacted with those other shining kids. I can hear their peals of laughter at her antics and their funny comments at dinner.

We drove past the school next door, the oldest in our city. A public school that had once been failing but had been infiltrated by volunteers from the ministry my husband worked with. When the school eventually closed down, that same ministry — by the grace of God and generous donors — was able to purchase it for area students. A gleaming cream and white anchor and a testimony of the goodness of God.

We made our way around the rest of this old mill town that now housed a bakery, coffee spot, leather workshop, and even a wellness spa. The history wasn’t erased. You could see it in the bones of the buildings, in the texture of the floors and walls, and from the mouths of the people who lived there long ago.

As we parked and prepared to meet a young family for coffee in that refurbished mill, I couldn’t help but think about what it was like over twenty years before. When pizza delivery and police cars alike didn’t want to venture in. When you heard more about violence and poverty, and never envisioned that in the future we would be raving about how delicious the baked goods were from the French bakery.

There are people who will walk down the streets of Lincoln Mill and never be able to comprehend what was, because someone was bold enough to take a leap of faith towards what could be.

Someone is called to step out in obedience. Someone has to be courageous enough to make the first move.

The ministry founder, local pastors, my husband, and so many others did. They took bold steps of faith to see a community transformed and the gospel shared. It has been a picture of tangible kingdom expansion into one of the darkest communities in my hometown. A place that lacked so much light is now literally one of the most well-lit streets in our city, with lovely ornate metal lamps arched over all who walk the sidewalks below.

Yes, risk requires sacrifice, and often comes at a cost.

I remember the night we got the call that the children’s home we were renovating, not too far from that ministry area, had burned down. An act of arson, two months before we were to move in — just a few more months before my first daughter was due. I remember the struggle my husband had when our home filled up, and he was no longer doing what he loved. But these hard and unexpected shifts didn’t limit God — the One who gives direction and calls and nudges.

Out of the ashes of my husband’s fallen dreams came a pull toward his home country. Because of what took place, my husband started praying earnestly about what God would have him do. God led him to release even more of his former ministry roles and even his salary. God was teaching both of us what it means to rely fully on Him and showed us the beautiful way He can provide more than we can ask or imagine. In the risk of letting go of what had defined him, a new dream was born, and redemption came forth. My husband returned home to Iceland with our family and saw God not only impact the hearts of people, but also redeem his childhood places of hurt and disappointment.

That nudge towards risk allowed my husband to be in the position of proclaiming God’s good news and His kingdom to people who saw him fail grade after grade in childhood and wondered what would become of him. But God doesn’t need a perfected vessel to release His glory. He just needs a heart that obeys.

The greatest example we have of this type of risky obedience is Jesus. In the verses from Isaiah below, we get a prophetic glimpse of what came out of His obedience and how He brings beautiful redemption out of the hardest situations.

“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”
Isaiah 63:1-4 NIV

Consider the risk Jesus took to come to us, to be with us. On the other side of His obedience unto the cross was our reconciliation with the Father we never could have acquired on our own.

Often when we take a risk, we don’t see the reward as quickly as we think we should. Perhaps our prayers feel like they’re mostly echoing around our room and not hitting the ear of the One who makes mountains move. But God doesn’t do things as we do.

Often on the other side of risk is the tipping point towards redemption we can’t even imagine.

This is the nature of the gospel. This is the good news.

You never know what God will redeem on the other side of your obedience.

What step of faith or risk may God be nudging you to take? What beauty does he want to make out of your ashes?

When You Don’t Have Enough for Today, Remember This

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“The angel of the Lord came and sat under the oak in Ophrah that belonged to Joash the Abiezrite. His son Gideon was threshing wheat in a winepress to hide it from the Midianites. Then the angel of the Lord appeared to him and said, “The Lord is with you, valiant warrior.”

Gideon said to him, “Please, my lord, if the Lord is with us, why has all this happened? And where are all his wonders that our ancestors told us about? They said, ‘Hasn’t the Lord brought us out of Egypt?’ But now the Lord has abandoned us and handed us over to Midian.”

The Lord turned to him and said, “Go in the strength you have and deliver Israel from the grasp of Midian. I am sending you!”

He said to him, “Please, Lord, how can I deliver Israel? Look, my family is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the youngest in my father’s family.”

“But I will be with you,” the Lord said to him. “You will strike Midian down as if it were one man.””
Judges 6:11-16 CSB

 

Have you ever had a moment like Gideon?

Doing your best just to get through the day.  Feeling small. Hiding the pieces of your life that feel disappointing or broken. Maybe you’ve wondered, “God… where are You? If You’re really with me, why is this so hard?”

Gideon wasn’t courageous when the angel found him — he was afraid and in hiding. But notice what God did not say:

He didn’t say, “Try harder.”
He didn’t say, “When you’re stronger, then I’ll use you.”

God looked at fearful, insecure Gideon and spoke a new identity over him:
“Valiant warrior.”

Why? Because God wasn’t speaking to who Gideon felt like — He was speaking to who Gideon was with Him.

God doesn’t deny Gideon’s weakness. He simply answers it with His presence.

“Go in the strength you have… I am sending you… I will be with you.”

Maybe you feel like you don’t have enough strength for today. Enough patience. Enough courage. Enough hope. But God isn’t asking you to have more. He’s inviting you to take the next step with what you already have.

Your “not enough” plus God’s presence is more than enough.

In your fear — He is with you.
In your uncertainty — He is sending you.
In your weakness — He makes you a warrior.

So today, instead of waiting until you feel confident or ready, whisper this simple prayer:
God, I will go in the strength I have. You are with me.

Take the next step. Make the call. Show up. Speak truth.
Not because you feel strong, but because He is.

The Miracle I Never Expected

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There was a time in my life when my parents couldn’t be in the same room with each other. As a kid, I learned to wait on the wicker loveseat and stare impatiently out the large picture window. (Yes, it was the early nineties and we had wicker furniture in the living room.) As soon as I saw my dad’s black sedan pull into the driveway, I would yell to my sisters that it was time to go and we would race out the front door. Was I that excited to see my dad? Honestly, not really. I was just that eager to avoid him coming up to the house and igniting a possible confrontation with my mom.

In middle school, I remember standing up for my trumpet solo and quickly scanning the crowded gymnasium in search of supportive faces. I spotted my mom in the left set of bleachers and my dad in the farthest possible section to the right. In high school, when I got the lead in Oklahoma, my parents came to different shows, careful not to cross paths lest a community theater become a battleground.

There were a thousand spoken and unspoken hurts between my parents that spilled over into my heart. The way my dad wouldn’t help pay for my sister’s dance classes to make life harder for my mom. The way my mom didn’t hide her disdain for the summer vacations my dad took us girls on, which made me feel like my excitement was a betrayal. Fifteen years of marriage in and as many years of bitterness out. I never knew if their divorce was the right choice, the only choice. As a kid I never longed for them to get back together — I just wanted things to be different. I just wanted to escape the shrapnel of their pain.

At my college graduation, my dad pretended not to hear me when I asked him to stand next to me for a picture with our whole family — the original five. When I was getting married, my mom didn’t want to sit beside my dad and his new wife; my dad didn’t want to sit in the row behind my mom. Several verbal blowups and low blows left me gutted. Three days before my big day, I looked at my wedding dress hanging on the closet door and wondered if my dad would even show up to walk me down the aisle.

I share all this not as a catalog of grievances against my parents but to set the stage for the miracle I never expected.

Fast-forward several years to when my dad was in a difficult place in his life — well, difficult is an understatement. His second marriage had failed, as had his business and his health. Thanksgiving was approaching. Holidays are always extra complicated for kids of divorce. My sisters and I were all married at this point and had to juggle time with our in-laws and separate gatherings for our mom and dad. Now that my dad was single and struggling, the responsibility to host a celebration with him fell to one of us girls — an added stress when our individual lives were already maxed and being with Dad didn’t feel especially celebratory.

The details of what happened next have become a bit fuzzy through the fog of years. The question might have come through an email or group text thread, or maybe we were talking on the phone while I nursed a baby. Either way, I’ll never forget my mom’s words: “How would you feel if I invited your dad to join us for Thanksgiving?”

As I sat there speechless, my mom went on to explain how she understood what a burden it was to navigate three family get-togethers and how the busyness could take away from the joy of the holiday. She said she wasn’t sure if Dad would accept an invitation from her, but she felt like the Lord was asking her to extend it.

Honestly? My first thought was No way! I pictured the awkwardness of being in the same house all together. I thought about how I would take the chaos of bouncing from one Thanksgiving dinner to the next to the next over the tension of sitting at the same table with my parents for an extended meal. The family chasm caused by their divorce was way too wide to bridge with some mashed potatoes and gravy. Years and years of conflict and failed resolutions proved that reconciliation was impossible, right? So why even try?

Given our family history, this knee-jerk reaction was understandable — but it was also rooted in fear. I’m grateful to tell you that my initial response didn’t win out.

The first miracle was my mom asking my dad to Thanksgiving dinner. The second miracle was the doorbell ringing and my dad showing up in his classic corduroy slacks and argyle sweater and handing my mom a bottle of Martinelli’s. The miracles after that were too many to count.

As little ones threw corn kernels from high chairs and unspoken words passed in sideways glances between sisters, we made it through that first Thanksgiving dinner. My dad thanked my mom for inviting him and complimented her cooking. My mom thanked my dad for coming and gave him another piece of homemade pie to go. It felt a bit like I was living someone else’s life.

It was hard and uncomfortable and so very worth it. I left that dinner with a belly full of turkey and a heart full of praise. What I thought was surely impossible turned out not to be. 

From our pain God produced a miracle — and I’m still giving thanks.

That Thanksgiving dinner was the first of many times my mom and dad would sit together at the same holiday table. After that, there was a standing invitation for my dad to join our family celebrations. And I never want to get over the miracle of it. I never want to lose sight of the fact that what took place over plates of green beans and baskets of bread was the work of the Holy Spirit — and a bunch of messed-up people willing to surrender to the gift of His leading.

Think about it: My mom could have ignored the Spirit’s stirring. Pain and resentment could have blocked her from extending an offering of peace and compassion. My dad could have rejected the invitation. Pride and bitterness could have been barriers to reconciliation and connection.

My sisters and I could have dismissed the hope of family harmony. Anger and unforgiveness for the turmoil caused by our parents’ fractured marriage could have prevented the miracle God wanted to do in our family. I could have said the pain of the past was already too much to bear, so why open myself to the possibility of more?

There are a dozen or more reasons why that first family dinner should never have happened following fifteen years of brutal divorce aftermath. But God . . . (Oh, those two small and mighty words.)

But God was working for the good of those who love Him. And that’s the wild thing about what His Word promises! “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28 NIV).

Did you catch that? All things. God doesn’t just use the moments of our lives that we deem worthy of an Instagram highlight reel. He doesn’t reserve His work only for the times when we get things right, when we walk without stumbling, when we run without being wounded by the pain of our own making. He works all things together for our good. The only qualifier is that we love Him.

I showed up to that unexpected Thanksgiving dinner still carrying old wounds crusted over with the scab of time. I came with my guard partly up and plenty of skepticism stuffed in my back pocket. But I came to the table. And so did my mother, my father, and my sisters. Sometimes just showing up is the beginning of building new bridges of connection. Showing up with a hefty dose of humility helps.

Humility says I’m willing to give the other person the benefit of the doubt.

Humility says being right or even being heard is not the most important thing.

Humility says I’m going to do my best to love well regardless of how someone else chooses to respond.

I didn’t hear those exact words come out of anyone’s mouth that November night, but each person’s actions spoke volumes. And God’s voice in our midst was the loudest. I’m not sure who else heard Him, but I couldn’t ignore the tender, relentless assurance of the Spirit saying, See Me. See how I’m doing the impossible. See how I’m answering prayers you didn’t even know to pray. See how I’m infusing hope and life and healing into your family in ways you never could have imagined.

Perhaps that’s what the Holy Spirit is whispering to you today, too.

Today’s devotion is an excerpt from Becky Keife’s chapter, “What If Pain Is the Stage for Miracles?” in our (in)courage book, Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort.

You can listen to Becky read the entire chapter on this special episode of the (in)courage podcast. 

How to Make an Immediate Difference When Someone in Front of You Is Hurting

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Before Buddy the Elf was a twinkle in anyone’s imagination, there was Laurie. (If you haven’t seen Elf, add it to your Christmas movie list! And trust me when I tell you, hugs are his favorite.)

Laurie and I worked at the same retirement community ages ago. Among other responsibilities, Laurie was in charge of coordinating move-ins and helping people get situated in their new homes. But what I recall most about Laurie is that she owned Hug Day. Every Wednesday, she’d offer residents a cheery “Happy Hug Day!” and give them a friendly squeeze. To my knowledge, Hug Day wasn’t an official activity, just a weekly kindness Laurie took seriously.

Looking back, I wonder how many of Laurie’s “hug-ees” might have needed a hug. Who in her path could’ve been feeling blue, missing their loved one’s touch, or just longing to be seen and held?

Laurie and I haven’t seen each other in 25 years, but often she comes to mind when I’m with my friend Darla. Darla’s superpower is hugging. She has this keen insight into knowing who around her needs a hug, and she offers them freely and without reservation. If hugging were an Olympic sport, she’d win gold. When you’re on the receiving end of a Darla hug, you feel better instantly. It’s like a shot of vitamin B without the sting. Are you getting the picture? (If you’ve ever had the chance to meet (in)courage contributor, Anna Rendell, you know that hugging is one of her superpowers, too.)

This year at Community Bible Study, Darla is my core group leader. It’s a treat for us to get to be together on a weekly basis, mining God’s Word and talking through the deep things of faith with a room full of sisters growing closer to Jesus, together.

When I walked into our small group last week, I knew I was on edge. I had received some hard news the night before, and my heart was fragile. I thought I could slap a smile on my face and get through group time without anyone knowing. But when a friend seated across the room asked me a simple question, I cracked. Tears surfaced as I shook my head and answered, “I’m okay…I just can’t talk about it right now.”

She nodded in understanding. In the way women get women, everyone who saw our exchange felt my pain. Including Darla.

Up Darla stood, softly declaring, “I’m about to make this worse.” I knew what was coming as she eased over to where I was sitting and wrapped her arms around me. Pausing to let the room settle, she held me tight and prayed to the God who knows my hurt, having no need to know herself.

Nothing changed in my circumstances, but instantly I felt better. Her words and embrace were the perfect thing at the perfect time.

I thought about it later, how her small gesture yielded immediate results. I’m convinced a simple hug can be a powerful expression of God’s love. And the immediate gift of prayer is God’s presence. Receiving God’s love and coming into His presence brings supernatural peace. No wonder I felt better.

Jesus modeled this same kind of compassion throughout His ministry. He saw people, really saw them, and met them where they were. While others withdrew from those considered untouchable, Jesus moved toward them. He touched lepers (Mark 1:40–42), took children in His arms (Mark 10:13–16), and laid His hands on the weary and broken. His touch was a connection that restored dignity, offered healing, and reminded people they were loved and never beyond His reach. And, after His resurrection, Jesus gave us the Holy Spirit so we could go and do likewise.

When Darla wrapped her arms around me and prayed, she became Jesus with skin on to me. Her hug was more than human comfort; it was divine compassion clothed in friendship.

Sometimes we underestimate the quiet, ordinary ways God shows up — through a hug, a kind word, and shared prayer. Yet those are often the very moments when His presence feels most real.

In 2 Corinthians 1:3–4 (ESV) we read, “ 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.”

Through our own experience with heartache, we are developing insight, empathy, and compassion that can serve others. Isn’t that a stunning redemption of life’s pain or difficulties?

Living out our faith is often as simple as yielding to those Spirit-led promptings to remind others they are seen, loved, and not alone. Since we have “been there” ourselves, we have the benefit of seeing how God ministered to and brought us through the trial.

When I think back to Laurie and her Hug Day mission, or to Darla’s prayer-wrapped hug, I see two women living this truth. Both reflected God’s heart in ways that lingered long after the moment passed.

If you’ve received a healing hug, you already know that sometimes love doesn’t need words. And if someone was bold enough to pray for you, too? That’s icing and cherries and sprinkles on top.

Is someone around you hurting? Risk an awkward moment to offer a hug. Go a step further and pray. I think it’s what Jesus would do.

Five Steps to Move Through Anxiety (the Psalm 143 Way)

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The sun shines like a disco ball through California palm fronds, light catching at different angles as I walk my familiar route. I love the light.

I never love getting out of bed. But once I force my feet to the cold floor and pull a sweatshirt over my disheveled head and lace up my shoes and trudge through the side yard and wrestle the rusty gate and step onto the street — I’m always glad I did.

I walk because fresh air is soul medicine. I walk because paying attention to liquid amber leaves changing from green to autumn gold and fiery red hushes the craziness of the world — at least for a few minutes. When I walk, I feel the truth of God’s remarkable handiwork: endorphins releasing, dopamine increasing, serotonin soaring — a body-to-brain boost of stress reduction, clarity, energy, and grounded calm.

I turn north toward the foothills and feel my legs strain a bit with the slight incline. Gorgeous yellow roses pop glory over the cinderblock wall. I wonder how long the blooms will last.

Every day is a good day to take a walk. It’s one of my favorite times to talk to God. And on this particular morning, I’m desperate to hear His voice.

The situations for which I need His wisdom are many. I’ve known God long enough to know that His promises are truly true — He always comes through. So I quote James 1:5 to my Heavenly Father, knowing He’ll make good on His Word: “If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and he will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking.” (NLT)

God, I need your wisdom, and I’m asking for it.

I pour out my heart, like David taught, telling God all my troubles and proclaiming my full trust. I ask Him my two favorite questions: Lord, what do You want me to know? God, what do You want me to do?

Wisdom often comes through revelation and action. I’m ready for both.

I expect a clear thought to drop in my mind or an instant peace to settle in my soul. Instead, all I hear is noise. All I feel is the unsettling pulse of anxiety — like I’ve had too many cups of coffee, yet I haven’t consumed a single drop.

Jesus, please help me focus. Help me hear Your voice.

But clarity doesn’t come. It feels like someone has the remote control to my brain and is incessantly flipping channels. The flashing pictures and sounds give me glimpses, but nothing pauses long enough to really take in. I’m straining to hear, straining to see, but the chaos between my two ears makes me wish I was back in bed — asleep.

Discouragement tugs at the edges of my soul.

I don’t have time to stay stuck in this looping, foggy, tangled, aching-for-answers place. People are counting on me. Stuff’s gotta get done. I don’t want to lean on my own understanding. I don’t want to strive for my own peace.

Jesus, I’m showing up, Jesus. I’m trying to listen. I’m doing all the right things. But I’m not getting the outcomes I need.

Friend, what do we do when healthy rhythms seem to stop working? What do we do when God seems silent? When our brains or bodies or spirits don’t cooperate with our good intentions and best efforts?

We keep walking.
We keep praying.
We keep being faithful.

We keep trusting that God is God and we are not. We keep surrendering our timelines for His truth. We keep releasing our expectations and choosing expectancy. We keep rehearsing and repeating the goodness of the Lord, rooting ourselves in His presence — even when we don’t feel it.

I learned this from David and his honest cries to God in his most desperate times. In Psalm 143 (NLT), David models a way forward when our thoughts tangle and our hearts feel heavy.

1. Be honest with God.
David doesn’t pretend everything’s fine.
“Hear my prayer, O Lord… I am losing all hope; I am paralyzed with fear.” (vv. 1, 4)
He asks God to listen because of who God is, not because David has it all together.

2. Remember God’s faithfulness.
David shifts his gaze from fear to remembrance:
“I remember the days of old… I think about what You have done.” (v. 5)
When anxiety screams, remembering quiets the noise and brings God’s goodness into focus.

3. Return to relationship.
“I lift my hands to you… I thirst for you.” (v. 6)
David doesn’t just want an answer. He wants God.

4. Keep asking for help.
He’s honest again:
“Lord, come quickly… my depression deepens.” (v. 7)
Our need isn’t a flaw. It’s an invitation.

5. Surrender and trust.
“Let me hear of your unfailing love each morning, for I am trusting you…
Show me where to walk… Teach me to do your will… May your gracious Spirit lead me forward on a firm footing.” (vv. 8, 10)
David asks God for daily love, clear direction, and steady footing — not the whole map, just the next step.

As I finish my walk, a cat stretches in the sun. A baby cries through an open window. Warm light kisses my cheeks. I breathe in the ordinary grace of this moment. Relationship with God doesn’t guarantee instant clarity. It offers something better: His steady presence.

My anxiety hasn’t vanished, and the remote in my brain still feels glitchy. But my body feels more grounded. My soul feels held.

God is leading me.

And He will lead you too — one honest prayer, one remembered mercy, one trusting step at a time.

Feeling anxious, tired, or tangled? Find more support in Becky’s new book, A Verse a Day for the Anxious Soul: 100 Days of Peace for the Calm You Crave.

 

When Beauty Makes You Homesick

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At the end of October, just as the maple in our front yard was beginning to blush the deepest crimson, my husband and I boarded a transatlantic flight to England. We were bound for Cambridge – to celebrate our daughter Lydia’s graduation from a master’s program and to step into a world that felt ancient, slow, and enchanted.

It was only a handful of days – a short trip, but a magical one. We wandered down cobblestone streets, sipped perfectly steeped tea, and found poetry stitched into the landscape, the courtyards, the gentle river. In Cambridge, tradition isn’t something preserved behind glass. It breathes. It lingers in arches and candlelit cathedrals, in worn stone steps, and in the delightful (unofficial) rule that bicycles shall always outnumber cars.

For all the beauty we encountered, there is one morning I won’t forget – graduation morning.

In honor of a centuries-old tradition, a long procession of graduates — draped in black gowns and satin hoods marking their degrees — filed out of Magdalene College. Magdalene is one of Cambridge’s 31 colleges, and a place where C.S. Lewis once taught. I confess, I feel a particular fondness for Magdalene, knowing Lydia had walked the same courtyards and hallways as a man who unknowingly grew my own understanding of God as a younger woman.

The procession stepped onto the street and crossed the arched bridge over the River Cam, where slow, punting boats drifted beneath us with passengers wrapped in blankets against the crisp October air. Then they moved on toward Senate House, where the ceremony unfolded almost entirely in Latin – regal and reverent in every way.

Throughout the morning, a lump rose in my throat — joy and ache braided together. It was as if my heart climbed up into my voice box. There goes my girl, my dreamer, walking ancient ground toward the next chapter of her life.

But what surprised me wasn’t the emotion I felt that day. What mother wouldn’t feel that? It was what happened after we returned home.

Instead of settling back into normal life, something in me ached – beautifully and painfully. A strange longing had imprinted itself on my heart, as if some shimmering thread of beauty had pulled me toward God while leaving me wanting more.

And I recognized it.

Maybe I recognized it so quickly because Lydia’s dissertation explored this very thing – specifically how music can awaken this kind of longing, a longing we can’t name. We’d talked about it through emails, texts, and FaceTime calls, her words full of academic precision and spiritual curiosity. But now I wasn’t just hearing about it.

I was feeling it!

Sehnsucht.

It’s a German word that conveys a nostalgic, wistful yearning – often for something idealized or never fully possessed.

C.S. Lewis adopted Sehnsucht to name a very specific spiritual experience – a longing that earthly things awaken but cannot satisfy. A homesickness for a place we’ve never been but somehow remember. The bittersweet ache of joy that points beyond this world.

Lewis believed, and I find myself agreeing, that this ache is evidence that our souls are wired for eternity.

Cambridge reawakened Sehnsucht in me, with its history, beauty, river, and tolling bells. And maybe most of all, the sight of my grown girl crossing a bridge into her future – a bridge paved with cobblestone and the glorious ache of longing.

The moments in Cambridge felt holy, but also fleeting. I wanted to hold it, yet I could not. The ache seemed to say: there is more than this.

And isn’t that how Sehnsucht works?

An unrepeatable sunrise too lovely to be accidental.
A song that lifts something in us that we can’t explain.
The edge of the ocean.
That moment around a Thanksgiving table, with the ones you love most smiling, laughing, twinkling with the light of faith.

That is Sehnsucht. Have you felt it?

Scripture says it too:

“He has planted eternity in the human heart.” Ecclesiastes 3:11 NLT

“They were longing for a better country – a heavenly one.” Hebrews 11:16 NIV

“Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.” 1 Corinthians 13:12 NLT

Right now, we only catch reflections – glimmers of glory, whispers of beauty, otherworldly moments. And yet, here they are! Right before us! We are offered hints of Home in crimson-dressed trees and punting boats and sunrises and music and forests – and in the eyes of those we love.

This longing isn’t an accident. It’s a compass toward Home. It’s a reminder that the yearning we feel – the homesickness in our hearts – will resolve itself one day, in the presence of God.

Have you ever experienced that bittersweet longing — the kind that feels like joy and homesickness at the same time? What moment awakened it in you? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

When Your Soul Forgets Its Song

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I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt sad, but didn’t really know why. 

That particular day hadn’t come with a crisis or catastrophe. No illness, intense struggle, or unresolved conflict. Even so, my heart felt tender, worn. Sometimes the cumulative impact of simply living takes a toll — on the heart, mind, body, and soul. You can’t mark it on your calendar or prepare ahead of time. Instead, it sneaks up and blindsides you with inexplicable waves of emotion. 

So I opened my Bible and attempted to read, fully assured that the Lord is “my hiding place” (Psalm 32:7). I started in the Gospel of Mark, reading one chapter and then another, waiting for it to assuage my sadness like taking a couple of Tylenol dulls a headache.

I wanted it to numb the ache and make me feel better. Sometimes God’s Word does exactly that. But that day, despite the riches on each page, I remained uninspired. 

That’s when I made a decision to do something I didn’t feel like doing. I got up from my office chair, put on my tennis shoes, grabbed a sweatshirt, and headed outside. Although it was cold and I had little energy, I started walking, carving circles around the perimeter of my house. And as I walked, I sang the first song that came to mind — The Goodness of God. It didn’t sound pretty, and I forgot some of the words. A couple of times, my dog looked at me as if I’d lost my ever-loving mind. Entirely possible. But I kept walking. And singing.

I didn’t feel it, but I sang what I knew to be true. And although the heaviness didn’t disappear entirely, it lifted a little. And it was enough. 

In Psalm 13, David feels a similar melancholy. He’s discouraged by the taunts of enemies, weary of life, and trying to survive. To make matters worse, God seemed distant: “How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” (v. 2)

His lament sounds like mine. How long, Lord? I need two spiritual Tylenol STAT.   

“Look on me and answer, LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,” he warns (v. 3)

No matter how desperate and determined his prayers, his melancholy remained. That’s when he made a decision to do something he didn’t feel like doing. He told himself the truth, the truth he knew to be true, even if his feelings tempted him to doubt.

“But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.”
Psalm 13:5-6 (NIV)

You see, some moments, days, and seasons will be marked by sadness. It’s just the way it works. At times, you’ll know the reason why; other times, you won’t. The cumulative impact of the human experience often hits when we least expect it. And, yes, sometimes God will seem distant. Your prayers will sound hollow, the verses you read uninspired.

When this happens — note, I said when, not if — our best response isn’t to follow the path of our feelings, but to lace up our shoes and walk out the TRUTH: 

  1. TRUTH #1: We are wonderfully made, including our feelings. But feelings don’t always tell us the truth. Pay attention to feelings, but don’t be a slave to them.
  2. TRUTH #2: Just because God feels distant, doesn’t mean He is. Go back to His character and His promises. If God says He will never leave you (He says it!), believe Him.
  3. TRUTH #3: Joy isn’t a response to feelings, but a generator of them. Sometimes we need to do the thing before we feel the thing. Regardless, He is worth the worship.
  4. TRUTH #4: Reminding yourself of God’s goodness is a spiritual practice just as valuable as prayer and Scripture. Every day, rain or shine, God is GOOD.

I don’t know your story or what your life looks like right now. But there is a good chance that, before the year comes to a close, you’ll have a day or two (or twelve) that come with more melancholy than joy. I get it, sister. Some days are just plain hard. But God’s goodness remains the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He is the One thing we can count on.

And when my soul forgets its song, I’ll sing anyway. Until Truth trumps the grief with a new and better melody.

 

From Weary to Renewed: Finding Hope for What’s Next

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This year has been ridiculously long and hard. It has stretched me more than I ever imagined. It’s been the year I never expected — the one I would gladly trade in. There have been moments of deep weariness — emotionally, spiritually, and even physically. Yet here, near the end of it, I can sense God beginning to breathe renewal into the dry places of my heart.

There’s been a small shift — a lightening of the heavy load I’ve been carrying. Even so, I haven’t fully given in to hope yet. I lean more toward being cautiously optimistic. Maybe it’s the part of me that waits for the other shoe to drop, or maybe it’s a little spiritual fatigue from this season. Either way, I want to hope again.

Scripture reminds us that God is the lifter of our heads. He trades our heavy burdens for His light ones. He delights in giving us beauty for ashes and garments of praise for our heaviness.

One thing I’ve discovered in this long, hard season is how easily I place my hope and peace in circumstances, people, or possessions. Too often, Jesus hasn’t been at the top of that list. This has been a time of stripping and shaking. I’ve lost my home, friends, finances, car, joy, hope, and peace.

The only thing I didn’t lose was Jesus.

It’s been just me and the Lord. I’ve clung to Him with every fiber of my being, doing my best to praise Him in every situation — even when I gave in to complaining. I’ve searched His Word for truth and promises, and I’ve learned to let the Body of Christ carry my burdens and bless me in my need. My trust, dependency, and humility have grown.

Recently, I took a trip to Dallas, Texas, for a weekend conference with a ministry I’m part of. I decided to stay a little longer to spend quality time with friends and in Upperroom Church’s prayer room. I stayed for eight days.

The Lord met me in the sweetest ways — in that prayer room, in the middle of crowded weekday gatherings. Ministry was simply to Him. Praises were lifted to Him. There were tears, shouts, and groans. He spoke His promises over me and filled me with a tangible sense of His love.

I also reconnected with friends — in the prayer room, over coffee, and around the table. I experienced “church” in the truest sense: deep, meaningful fellowship that reminded me of Acts 2 community.

During the conference, the Holy Spirit met me in powerful ways. I was marked by encounters of His love, glory, deliverance, and freedom. Friends laid hands on me and prayed that the Lord would move in my season.

Romans 15:13 has become an anchor for my heart:

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

The God of hope has been meeting me here, reminding me that His strength meets me in my weakness. His joy has been my strength. His grace has sustained me. His peace has overwhelmed me. He truly is the lifter of my head. I needed time away — from the pain, the exhaustion and the noise of this season. I needed time with Him. I needed conversations, prayers, and hugs from friends who really saw me. I needed reminding that I’m not walking alone and that God still restores.

God has breathed revival into the places where I felt empty and tempted to strive for my own healing and outcomes. I’m not completely through this hard season yet, and I didn’t return home to find that everything had been fixed. But He has begun a quiet stirring of hope for what’s next — a new year and a new season.

If you’re finishing this year feeling weary, take heart. God is not finished with you. He’s still restoring, still strengthening, still writing redemption into your story. May we trade our striving for His rest and find hope for what’s next. The same God who has held me, holds you too.

How has God been meeting you in your season? How is He renewing your hope?

Your Worth Is Not Up for Debate

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“See how very much our Father loves us, for he calls us his children, and that is what we are!”
1 John 3:1 NLT

There are days when we feel unseen — when our reflection in the mirror highlights every insecurity, when our efforts go unnoticed, or when we wonder if our presence truly matters. The world tells us to hustle for worth. Our feelings whisper that we’re not enough.

But feelings are not facts. And the world doesn’t get the final say.

God does.

Scripture pulls back the curtain on what is eternally true: we are deeply loved and deliberately chosen by God. He doesn’t label us by our failures or measure us by our productivity. He calls us His daughters — not reluctantly, not temporarily, but forever.

God doesn’t love you because of what you offer Him.
He loves you because of who He is.

When Jesus looked at the crowds, weary and worn out, He didn’t tell them to try harder; He invited them to come close. The same invitation holds today. We don’t have to earn God’s attention or prove our value — we already have His heart.

Take a breath and let this truth settle into the places where doubt has taken root:

You are wanted.
You are cherished.
You belong.

Not because you’re flawless, but because you’re His.

Your value is not determined by how you feel or what others say — your value is anchored in the unchanging truth that you are God’s beloved daughter.

Carry this with you today: you are not fighting for worth, you are living from it.

 

Grateful Always + a Recipe for Caramel-Apple Dip

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“Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.”
I Thessalonians 5:16–18 NLT

In this season of Thanksgiving, we reflect on all that we’re grateful for. It’s a time of celebration as we take time to pause, enjoy a holiday meal, and give thanks to God. And we have so much to be thankful for — look around you at this very moment and count three things you’re thankful for. Maybe it’s the house you’re in, the people you are around, the free magnetic calendar you got in the mail today. Too often we wait to show our gratitude to God only when big life changes happen, but there is so much to be thankful for in this very moment.

And what about the challenging times? Do we have a heart full of gratitude in the hard times? First Thessalonians 5:18 (NLT) tells us, “Be thankful in all circumstances.” This Scripture is saying we can be thankful not just in times of blessing, but also in times of difficulty. That sounds hard to do, but when you think about it, we can be grateful in our ever-changing circumstances because God is the Source of our provision and blessings, and He never changes. Whether we find ourselves in good times, busy times, or hard times, we know our unchanging God is still taking care of us: “I, God, will never forget you” (Isaiah 49:15 The Voice).

We may not understand how He is working on our behalf during the tough times, but we can always be thankful, because He is always faithful.

Having a grateful heart in all circumstances doesn’t come to us naturally; it takes some changes in our mindset to grow in gratitude and think grateful thoughts.

We can start in our prayer time, giving thanks to God for the blessings He gives us each day: the house we live in . . . the car we drive . . . the job that provides for our family . . . the food He blesses us with at our meals . . . the beautiful sunsets we see every evening . . . nothing is too big or too small to give Him thanks for. Growing in gratitude is also a matter of shifting our focus — from the difficulties we’re facing, or from what we don’t have, to knowing God is with us in our difficulties, recognizing all that we do have through Him.

Gratitude will grow more and more within us as we “come before Him with thanksgiving” every day (Psalm 95:2 NIV). Think of each morning as a new opportunity to thank God for all He does. It’s a sweet way to start your day.

Lord, we come to You with grateful hearts for all the ways You bless us and fill our lives with so many good things. Because of Your abundant and unconditional love, we can live joyfully and thankfully every day of our lives, no matter what our circumstances are. We can be grateful in every season, whether we’re experiencing good days or difficult ones, because we know we are in Your care and You give us so much to be thankful for. Help us to remember to focus on You instead of any challenging circumstances we may face, knowing You will work through those for our good. We thank You that You always hold us close to Your heart and that You promise never to forget us. You are always so faithful. Help us to see Your blessings all around us as we go through each day and never take any of them for granted. Our hearts are filled with love for You and gratefulness to You for Your goodness to us. Amen.

Speaking of sweet . . . here’s a sweet and easy snack recipe you can try for a fall get together: Caramel-Apple Dip. It makes a great snack for your family, a group gathering, or even game day. As you melt the caramel with the other creamy ingredients in a saucepan, take some time to think grateful thoughts about your day and consider what you can thank God for!

Caramel-Apple Dip

PREP: 25 MIN. | COOK: 5-7 MIN. | TOTAL TIME: 25 MIN. | SERVINGS: 8

Ingredients:

  • 1 (11-ounce) bag caramels, unwrapped, or Kraft Caramel Bits
  • 1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
  • 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
  • Optional garnish: 2 teaspoons chopped peanuts (or pecans) or toffee bits, or 1 teaspoon each of nuts and toffee bits
  • Sliced apples to serve with the dip

Instructions:

  1. Add the caramels, sweetened condensed milk, and butter to a small- to medium-size saucepan saucepan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring frequently until mixture is smooth, creamy, and well-blended.
  2. Pour the caramel dip into a small bowl. If desired, garnish the top of the dip with a sprinkle of chopped nuts and/or toffee bits.
  3. Serve the dip while still warm with sliced apples. You could also serve with other fruit such as sliced pears, sliced bananas, or pineapple chunks, or with pretzels.
  4. Refrigerate any leftover dip for up to 2 weeks.

Note: This recipe makes about two and a half cups of dip. You can heat up any leftover dip and use it as an ice cream topping.

The Simple Recipes for Busy Seasons Devotional Cookbook is designed for hectic moments, offering heartfelt devotions that encourage you to breathe, pause, and find peace in God’s presence. Each devotion comes alongside quick, wholesome recipes that bring your family together without adding to your stress. Find many more recipes and devotions like the one above in Simple Recipes for Busy Seasons!

The Right Moment Is NOW

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When I was in fifth grade, I was gifted a cute lip gloss palette. It was special because it was tinted and scented. I wasn’t allowed to wear lipstick, but this felt like cheating, because I could wear tinted lip gloss. I decided I’d save it for special occasions — the right moment that really warranted it. So, I tucked it safely away in my drawer.

One day, I went to grab it, and when I opened the lid, I saw that it was completely empty. It looked like someone had dug out all the lip gloss. I knew exactly who the “someone” was…my annoying little brother.

I screamed for my mom, ready for justice to be served. She called him in and asked,
“Why did you take her lip gloss?”

His little seven-year-old eyes grew wide. “I didn’t know it was lip gloss,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not yours!” I cried. “What did you do with it?” I demanded an answer.

“I ate it,” he admitted. “I thought it was candy.”

I was so mad, but I couldn’t help but laugh as his face grew anxious, realizing he had eaten lip gloss.

In a funny way, God was trying to teach me something:

When we wait for the right moments, we actually end up missing the moments.

I wish that lesson had sunk in that day, but unfortunately, it’s something I’ve struggled with over and over again. I’ve waited for the “right moment” to use my God-given gifts. I’ve procrastinated my purpose many times because I wanted everything to be perfect.
So many of us fall into that same trap, don’t we?

We tell ourselves:
“I’ll start obeying when things calm down.”
“I’ll forgive when they apologize.”
“I’ll be generous when I make more money.”
“I’ll surrender when I understand.”

The truth is, many of us stay stuck in our brokenness and miss out on the abundant life Jesus offers because we’re waiting for the right moment.

In John 5, we meet a man who was also waiting for the right moment for his healing:

“After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, which is called in Hebrew, Bethesda, having five porches. In these lay a great multitude of sick people, blind, lame, paralyzed, waiting for the moving of the water. For an angel went down at a certain time into the pool and stirred up the water; then whoever stepped in first, after the stirring of the water, was made well of whatever disease he had. Now a certain man was there who had an infirmity thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he already had been in that condition a long time, He said to him, ‘Do you want to be made well?’”
John 5:1–6 NKJV

This man had been waiting for the right moment for a very long time.

Imagine waiting every single day for the stirring of the water, for the angel to come, for the chance to be first in the pool — for thirty-eight years! Maybe, like this man, you’ve felt stuck in your situation, waiting for things to change, waiting for a miracle.

Jesus sees you. He knows your story. And He asks you the same question He asked the man by the pool: “Do you want to be made well?”

Do you want to keep waiting for the right moment, or will you respond and move now?
Because the right moment is the moment of your obedience.

Jesus healed this man, not by stretching out His hand or touching him, but by speaking a word that required faith and action.

“Jesus said to him, ‘Rise, take up your mat, and walk.’” John 5:8

Faith looks like trying to bend knees that haven’t bent in 38 years. It’s trusting that God will give you strength as you roll your atrophied body over and push yourself up with your arms. And as you move, you begin to see God working in and through you, until you’re standing on legs that couldn’t carry you before.

James reminds us: “You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone” (James 2:24 ESV).

Faith isn’t just believing God can; it is moving in obedience, believing He will.

Your healing, your freedom, your breakthrough — it’s waiting on the other side of your obedience.

So often we’re waiting on God to move, but God is waiting for us to move, even when it’s not easy and certain.

Friend, if you are like me and get stuck in life waiting for the right moments, pray this with me:

Lord, help me not to wait for perfect moments, but to trust You and move in obedience today.


How “Not Well Enough” Becomes More than Enough

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In high school, I was no natural scholar, except in right-brain subjects like English literature and writing. Other important classes, like math and science, gave me heaps of trouble. Because I studied those subjects like my life depended on it, I miraculously pulled off decent grades. It didn’t hurt that God graced me with a friend, Amy, who religiously helped me with homework for those subjects.

(Greater love hath no 1990s high school student than one who’d regularly lay down her TV viewing time to talk me through algebra.)

While my report card looked favorable enough, the same cannot be said for my ACT and SAT scores. A slow test taker under the best of circumstances, I struggled to complete every single section in time. During the ACT specifically, a nosebleed sent me to the bathroom for a whole 20 precious minutes.

When all was said and done, my admission package was good enough to get me into college, but it wasn’t good enough to help me pay for it. And this fact led my academic advisor to tell me something along the lines of, “You do well, Kristen, just not well enough.”

Also during my senior year, I practiced my musical instrument, the oboe, till my finger pads practically fell off my fingertips in preparation for All-State auditions. All-State was the biggest competition for high school musicians across my home state of Oklahoma. Junior year, I’d made 4th chair in the All-State Band. This year, I wanted 1st chair.

On audition day, I drew a late audition number, which meant it’d be hours before my time to play. Instead of using that waiting time to practice or pray, I foolishly camped outside the audition door and listened to every other oboist nail the audition piece. When I walked into the audition room myself, my nerves ballooned till I couldn’t breathe. I proceeded to play my audition piece as if I’d just looked at the music for the first time. As a result, I didn’t make All-State Band at all. I made second alternate.

Staring at my name listed far down the acceptance list, the academic advisor’s words came back to me,

“You do well, Kristen, just not well enough.”

Truly, I flub up, fumble, and fall flat on my face aplenty, and often because of my own poor choices. But what about the times we do all the right things to achieve a desired result, and that desired result falls like water through our hands?

Poor at math though I am, I like to think I grasp it enough to make this calculation work:

desired goal + consistent hard work = achieving the results I want

When this doesn’t happen, I’m once again the high school senior sitting in the creaky metal chair in my counselor’s office, hearing the words,

“You do well, Kristen, just not well enough.”

The truth I couldn’t see at 18 but can see at 51 is that I had a mighty strong bent toward equating my worth with my performance. It didn’t help that when I performed well, I was praised to the heavens and back down again.

But those early failures helped me learn that I was beloved regardless of any success I achieved, not because of it.

In truth, grown-up Kristen needs this reminder, too.

Still, the disappointment from not doing as well as you’d like hurts. Hopes deferred make the heart sick, says Proverbs 13:12, and it’s true. It’s also true that God often allows a disappointment to become His appointment for something better.

I love this explanation:

“Hope deferred doesn’t mean hope denied. It just means the story is still being written. And maybe, just maybe, the delay is the miracle. Because it’s in the waiting that your roots grow deep enough to hold the fruit when it finally comes.”
— Andrew Alleyne

If we wipe our tears, we can see our disappointments carry this secret message from heaven: I’m setting the stage for your maximum benefit, and it’s not ready… yet.

Success is more fun, to be sure. But the strand of gold found in the familiarity of failure is that God is always arranging our circumstances behind the scenes for our favor and good. Believing this builds our trust muscles to rely on God rather than our own efforts. And then we know that our job is to work hard by doing what God has asked us to do, and we let Him handle the results.

All of this has led me to ask a hard but necessary question: What am I really trusting in? I don’t get past the first commandment in Exodus 20:3, “You shall have no other gods before me,” when I see I’ve already fallen short. For in all my math-ing of desired results, I’ve made an idol out of self-will, effort, and even performance. Working hard is a good thing, of course, and I don’t begrudge my driven personality. But I can’t put my faith in my try-hard tendencies, only in God’s sovereignty.

So, I think about a new calculation:

desired goal + consistent hard work = accepting the results God allows

And here I find that in God’s hands, “well enough” becomes more than enough — not because I finally nailed the outcome, but because I trusted Him with it. And friend, the same is true for you. Show up, give what you can, and let God handle the results. He isn’t asking you to be fantastic—only faithful.

Kristen loves helping women who are lonely for friends find their friendship groove so they can enjoy a more fun and fulfilling life. Visit here to connect with her and learn how she may be of help to you. 

Revival Starts Here: Everyday Faithfulness to Jesus

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I have been thinking a lot about revival lately. 

Maybe it’s the articles I’ve been seeing coming out of the UK – detailing how church decline has not only stopped, but church attendance is greatly increasing, especially among younger people. Or maybe it’s me still processing the outpouring at Asbury University that took place a few years ago. 

Or perhaps it’s the youth conferences in Canada that I help run – where this month alone, I witnessed (with my own eyes) over 1,500 students make a commitment to Jesus and choose to follow Him forever. 

Revival… I want to see it happen. 

I have the word written down on one of the front pages in my Bible, followed by multiple exclamation marks – Revival!!! – reminding me to pray each day for revival to come to my nation. 

I pray for that regularly, but if I’m honest, I’m still not 100% sure what that would look like. Will I notice it if it comes? Could it already be here? 

In my work running conferences for youth across Canada, I’ve started to see high school students hungrier for encounters with Jesus than ever before. I’ve heard stories of atheist kids being dragged to one of our conferences, only to end up weeping and receiving the love of God for the first time. Kids are starting Bible studies in their schools. They’re being freed from shame and addiction. Many feel like God is calling them into ministry. Story after story. Testimony after testimony.

I don’t know if it’s revival, but I know God is doing something. And I don’t want to miss it. 

But what about when the youth conference is over and the students go home? I thought about this a lot after the Asbury Outpouring seemed to be done. What happens to the sparks of revival when it feels like the event has finished? 

Faithfulness.

When the students go home, and the conference is over… when the hype has died down, and you’re no longer surrounded by thousands of people… something still remains: faithfulness. 

I have come to believe that revival starts and is spurred on by faithful acts of obedience to Jesus every single day. I think it’s not only about having moments of inspiration at an event – though God often uses events to encounter and impact us deeply – but also about faithfully following Jesus for the long haul. As Eugene Peterson wrote, following Jesus is a “long obedience in the same direction.” 

I see the way Jesus is wooing this next generation into discipleship to Him. I see it at each event our team runs, and I am profoundly touched by the power of God on display before my own eyes.

But I also want to seek Him on the mundane days where revival seems far away. 

I want to pray in quiet mornings, even when I don’t feel like waking up.

I want to fast, even on the days when it feels painful.

I want to repent, even on the days when all I want is to hide my sin from God.

I want a pure heart and to see God’s Kingdom come to earth as it is in Heaven.

Don’t you? 

I actually believe that revival is coming — and that God’s Spirit is ready to unleash and do something I have never seen in my lifetime. 

And until that day comes, I’ll keep praying for it. 

The thing I do know for sure, though, is that I can spend every day of my life faithfully following Jesus, regardless of what I see around me. If you trace the origins of revival, you’ll discover the faithful disciples of Jesus who just kept on following Him, even when they weren’t sure if revival would come.

I’ll keep praying and interceding for my nation, and until that day comes, I’ll keep choosing faithfulness.