Feel Like You’re Failing? Take This Lesson from a Lilac Bush

Feel Like You’re Failing? Take This Lesson from a Lilac Bush

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When I walked through the door, I could smell them before I saw them.

Lilacs — jars full of the cut blooms overflowed on the kitchen table. I inhaled deeply, one of my favorite fragrances and, because of this, one of my favorite flowers. My children had been cutting them from the yard and bringing them in, one handful after another. 

I was given this lilac bush, along with a car full of other treasures, from a local nursery that was going out of business around the time we moved to the farm. We were busy with house renovations and massive repairs around the farm, but I still needed to dig the holes to plant everything we hauled home. I was very pregnant at the time and my sciatica prevented me from making the step-down motion it takes to break ground with a shovel.  

All this to say, there wasn’t a lot of thought put into where to plant my scrawny, root-bound lilac bush. I remember thinking, “Weren’t lilacs once planted by outhouses to mask the smell?” I opted to just stick ours by the chicken coop and see what would happen. And, into the ground it went. 

Over the next few years, this lilac bush lived but it didn’t grow much. In fact, it didn’t do much of anything. It maybe had three or four clusters of blooms per season, but that was it. It didn’t seem to get any taller or bushier. It was just there. Yet, all along our road were examples of tall, thick lilac bushes with showy displays of flowers. It had me wondering why ours was so . . . underwhelming. However, in the grand scheme of raising kids and livestock, troubleshooting my melancholy plant wasn’t high on the list of things to worry about. 

Fast forward to last spring when we decided to move the chicken coop because our ladies needed to be moved to higher ground. All the years of scratching and rooting around in their run carved out a low spot that began to fill with water whenever it rained. So we picked a different spot in the yard, maybe ten feet away, and rotated it 90 degrees. It seemed like a small change that didn’t take much effort, but it made a big difference to our chickens. 

Surprisingly, it also made a big difference to my lilac bush. . .

Over the rest of the spring and all through the summer, it thrived. I felt like I could almost see it growing! Not only taller, but it began to fill out and thicken up too. Suddenly, it all made so much sense. I didn’t pay attention to how much sunlight it would get when we first planted it, sticking it next to the chicken coop. Lilacs love full sun, and ours had been in the full shade of the coop for years. No wonder it hadn’t been doing much of anything. 

Now, as I stand here in my kitchen seeing and smelling the evidence of a flourishing, healthy lilac bush, I keep thinking about this beautiful metaphor. For years, this plant merely survived, stuck in an environment it wasn’t created to be in. Now that it has been given full sunlight (or—depending on your perspective—now that the shade has been removed), it’s thriving.

It endured conditions that were against its nature; stunted but still alive. Now this lilac bush is not just surviving, but living abundantly.  

Just like lilacs were created for direct sunlight, we were created to be in direct relationship with God. Comforted by His presence. Fueled by His warmth. Growing closer and closer to Him every day. Boldly displaying abundant blooms as a living example of the goodness and power of Jesus.

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

This World Is Not Our Home. But Knowing That Doesn’t Make It Any Less Hard to Live In

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I sit on the bed and look out the window, watching the tree branches sway wild in the wind.

This is not my bed. Not my room, not my home. It is a guest room now; though, over a decade ago, I lit candles in the dark and strummed songs on a guitar every summer when I came home from college and called this room mine. I’ve since moved out. Got married, birthed babies, made a home of my own in a state a ways south of this one.

Yet, here I am. Thirty-five years old and living back home with my mother and two brothers. My sons and I are here for a season, and we’ll be joined by my husband at the end of summer. Wild, I know. But we moved because we’ve been following a shift and taking time to seek where the Spirit is leading us.

In this transitional season, my heart has become heavy with the idea of home. I talk and write about it all the time. I grieve the people and places I left, and I dream about where and when we will plant ourselves in a permanent, new place. Deeper still, beyond this concoction of grief and dreams, it feels like what I’m really waiting for is a home that can’t be built with brick and beams.

A lasting home — an enduring, eternal home. One that sustains and stays steady . . . can’t be shaken or taken or broken. Is immovable. Anchored.

I read my Bible on this bed that is not my own, and Matthew 8:20 tells me Jesus had no home. “Foxes have dens and birds have nests,” said Jesus, “but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (NIV).

And, I know. I know this world is not our home. I know that we are strangers in an even stranger land. Just passing through, only and ever looking for the city that is to come. I know that, someday, all strivings will cease, all tears will run dry, and loss will no longer be the legacy on our lips. It’s just . . . knowing that doesn’t make it any less hard to live in this world. It doesn’t magically make the waiting feel worth it. It doesn’t make the troubles disappear, or the lacking and longing evanesce into thin air. 

What do we do when we can’t pray away our pining for place, for home? What do we do when we feel that pang for a permanent place of peace — of rest and relief, right in the here and now?

Maybe you didn’t move, but “home” is a hard reality. Maybe you’re still dreaming of a permanent place to call your own. Something right out of a pastoral painting — a beautiful backyard with breathtaking views.

Maybe you’re waiting for the world to change — waiting for bullets to stop breaking through bodies, waiting for the crime in the streets to cower, waiting for the cure for cancer, waiting for stability and safety in your schools, your state . . . on this whole planet.

Jesus knows what it’s like to have no home, no place to lay his head, no permanent place of peace. He knows, full well, about persecution, poverty, and placelessness. Jesus knows the transient life, living from bags and boxes, so to speak. How to be in a place and, mysteriously, how to pass through it. How to be present in the pain of this world and, yet, how to press forward for the sake of the Father’s plan.

Humbled, Jesus came. Lower than kings, lower than His own creation. Even the slyest and smallest of the animals — untrustworthy foxes and unassuming birds — have a home on this God-breathed planet. But not Jesus. Because home for Jesus was in the palm of His Father’s hand. Home for Jesus was always wherever the Father was working and moving.

Jesus lived to serve, not to stay and settle. And I wonder, am I (are we) in the world to be settled or to be servants? Are we bending with and bowing to the will of the Father? Going where He goes. Partnering with Him, place to place to place.

I am downstairs, now, sitting in a recliner passed down by my Pop, who spent most of his Sunday afternoons here in this home. Pop is home now. Home, home. And I think, what a prize it is to be settled in heaven’s home after a lifetime of following Jesus . . . living and moving and serving in His name.

I look outside the window — the whirling winds have stopped.

And, mysteriously, my yearning heart is calm now, too.

Friends — I’d love to hold space for any thoughts or aches or prayer requests you might have about home. Comment below and share a little bit about what you’re going through — I’d love to encourage you.

Listen to Rachel’s devotion below or find the (in)courage podcast on your favorite app.

Peace in the Middle of the Storm

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I was fine, totally fine. Or so I thought.

And then after a long day of work and another hour making a home-cooked dinner, one unnamed thirteen-year-old made one too many critical comments, and I went from okay to out-of-control.

Rest and recovery have eluded me recently. There’s lots of tension and anxiety and chaos — in my home and in the world. We’re like too many passengers, crammed into a too-small dingy, thrust into the wide-open sea and then caught in a furious, terrifying storm. It reminds me of one stormy day when Jesus’s friends woke Him up in the boat crying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” (Luke 8:24 NIV).

I understand the disciples’ panic — their ability to go from fine to undone in the span of seconds. My squall may not come in the form of rain and wind, but it’s just as terrifying and damaging. And I’m usually the source of its sting — in my impatient responses and curt replies, my critical remarks and unforgiveness. When the tension and anxiety and chaos rise, my peace and self-control go down.

The funny thing about tension, anxiety, and chaos is that the first things we often let go of are what we need the most: quiet, prayer, meditation, Bible reading, solitude. It seems there isn’t time or energy for it.

A few days ago, I realized once again how insecure, irritable, and overwhelmed I felt. I was so caught up in the turmoil of the storm I forgot that Jesus was in my boat. To stay afloat, I needed to remember the only One who could offer me true peace.

“Where is your faith?” Jesus asked the disciples (Luke 8:25 NIV). He asks the same of you and me. And for today, I remember that although my world rocks and the wind roars, my faith is with Jesus. He sits in my boat, even while the storm grows. That means my Peace is with me, right here, right now, no matter what comes.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
John 14:27 NIV

Devotion by Michele Cushatt from 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

Stay organized and inspired this school year with an (in)courage Agenda Planner & 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle bundle! Both are full of Scripture to encourage you, devotions by your favorite (in)courage writers, and space for jotting your notes. The set includes our Seeing God in Every Season 18-Month Agenda Planner, a Gold Snap-In Prayer Board Planner Accessory, and a copy of our 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle Devotional Journal. . .

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

How to Pray for God to Lead You

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Our family’s fourteen-year-old grandma-dog, Quimby, is lying at my feet while I’m writing this. She has been the best dog that a family could ever have, and I will tell my future dogs exactly that. I believe God led us to her when she was a two-year-old pup in the animal shelter. Quimby sat and stared at us without making a sound while dogs all around us barked and pawed for attention. She had picked us, so we took her home. Quimby was the glue in a broken family that was trying to put the pieces back together. Her glue was endless love, hope, and joy — except when it came to one thing:

Quimby was a jerk every time we took her out for a walk.

Our sweet dog turned into an absolute maniac as soon as we snapped on her leash and stepped out the front door. After a few weeks of us getting pulled in all directions and suffering hyperextended elbows, Dr. Google recommended a solution called the “Gentle Leader.” Deceptively simple, the Gentle Leader was not a muzzle but a loop of half-inch nylon that went over Quimby’s nose with two attached straps that would snap on top of her head. It was simple but highly effective. Whenever Quimby pulled on her leash, the tension would transfer from the Gentle Leader and tug her nose to the side. Since dogs can’t walk with their nose turned to the side, Quimby would immediately stop walking and therefore stop pulling. Problem solved. I appreciated the Gentle Leader because we were able to correct a troublesome, difficult, and at times painful behavior in a way that didn’t require any harsh punishment or shock.

Fast-forward to the present. You’d think that after more than a decade of wearing a Gentle Leader, Quimby would no longer need it. After all this time, she should know better and not pull her leash to check out that little squirrel or sniff every single bush, right? Nope. Bless that sweet dog’s wandering heart, she lives to pull, even though her pace is slower now.

But a very interesting thing happened after the first few years. Initially, Quimby would fight us whenever we pulled out the Gentle Leader and tried to put it on her. Now, however, Quimby comes over, sits down, and slips her nose through the nylon loop. While her zest for sniffing trees or going off on her own has never changed, she has adjusted to letting us lead her along the way.

I can be a lot like my Quimby, constantly trying to wander off on my own, oblivious to the dangerous paths I might be taking. Maybe you can relate. In Galatians 5, Paul teaches us to let the Holy Spirit guide our lives because God knows that we would confuse His lordship with the dazzling allure of other siren voices calling us to do what makes us feel good, to get what we deserve.

“So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won’t be doing what your sinful nature craves. The sinful nature wants to do evil, which is just the opposite of what the Spirit wants. And the Spirit gives us desires that are the opposite of what the sinful nature desires. These two forces are constantly fighting each other, so you are not free to carry out your good intentions.”
Galatians 5:16–17 NLT

We have a Gentle Leader in God’s Holy Spirit. Letting God lead us begins with realizing our need to be led every day and never getting to the point where we think we don’t need God’s guidance or correction. There are times on our path when we pull, and the Holy Spirit gets our attention by stopping us from charging ahead. This is not a punishment; rather, it is a kind and gracious act of God.

God offers gentle nudges intended to get us to pause, reflect, slow down, and align ourselves with Him again.

Submitting to God’s Holy Spirit isn’t easy, especially if you sense God calling you to take hard steps like offering forgiveness, turning away from certain desires, or trusting Him without being able to see the path ahead.

Being led by the Spirit doesn’t mean that you turn into a robot. It’s a choice and a freedom. God isn’t making you do anything. You choose whether you want to submit to His leading.

Here are a few prayer prompts for inviting the Holy Spirit to lead you:

  • God, examine my heart and open my eyes to any area in my life where I am afraid or unwilling to wholly trust You.
  • God, is there a step of obedience I haven’t taken that You’ve been waiting for me to take?
  • God, is there a habit or pattern of behavior that is unhealthy for me physically that I need to submit to You?
  • God, I give You permission to lead me today. I want to follow Your plan and purpose for my life.

The Holy Spirit’s leading is gentle, full of love, and always for our good. Let’s trust the guardrails and guidance He provides, and eagerly walk with Him today.

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

5 Things to Help Your Relationship with Adult Children

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Twenty-five years ago today, I gave birth to twin sons — three months after I turned twenty-five myself. As I prepared to be a mama, I thought I was as adult-y as one gets. And I never thought I knew more about parenting than I did before actually becoming a parent. I know kids, I told myself back then. After all, I was a big sister to two younger sisters. I regularly babysat other people’s children. I taught elementary school children from kindergarten through 5th grade.

In some ways, I certainly did know kids. But as with many things in life, I didn’t know nearly as much as I thought I did. Once I became a mom, I learned that having peripheral experience with other people’s children is a lot different from the neck-deep experience of raising my own.

Still, there was something about raising small wee-watts that came naturally to me. In all honesty, I took to parenting younger children better than I took to my more recent season of “doing life with” adult kids. I’m sure part of that had to do with the level of control I had then versus now. With little kids, the greater element of control means that if your two-year-old is doing something you don’t like, you can pick her up and remove her from the activity in question.

With adult kids, there’s no such thing, of course.

Now, there’s SO MUCH I love about having adult kids. I love having amazing conversations with them that provide a window into the top-notch humans they are. I love hearing them relay what God is doing in their lives. I love sharing memes and jokes and laughing with them till my sides split. They’re spectacular people. But as one who can be “extra” and sometimes overstep with the best of intentions, I’ve had to learn a more laid-back approach to being with my adult kids.

To embrace that, here are five things I’ve discovered that help (and not hurt!) my relationship with my adult kids:

1. Make like a houseplant. This bit o’wisdom is from my friend, Jamie, who insightfully suggests that when it comes to adult kids, talk less and listen more. I’ve learned to make like a houseplant in the corner of the room and not speak till spoken to (mostly – -heh). Truly, though, this houseplant visual is a helpful one for me because I’m prone to chime in with my “wisdom” on all manner of things. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that per se. But these days with my adult kids I’m more careful to make those words “quality over quantity.” 

2. Love them where they are, not where you wish they were. Our adult kids aren’t us, and this fact eventually proves they’re going to make choices we wouldn’t — and that we’d prefer they didn’t. But that’s okay. Odds are good that you and I made choices our parents wouldn’t have chosen either! We can offer them the benefit of our experience through sharing our perspective as we feel led to do so, but we love them well when we accept that they are going to make choices we don’t necessarily endorse. 

3. Think of yourself as a peer more than a parent. Of course, we still are their parents. That will never change. But since this stage of life is for mentoring more than parenting, I often think of myself as their peer over their parent so I don’t overstep with the free advice. Adult kids aren’t really interested in our advice unless they ask for it. (Ask me how I know!)

4. Get together with your girlfriends. Mamas with adult kids need friends who have adult kids. One more time for the people in the back: MAMAS WITH ADULT KIDS NEED FRIENDS WITH ADULT KIDS. Therefore, when your grown-up darling does something you don’t agree with, you can share your feelings about it with those friends. In return, your friends will have much wisdom and perspective to share with you because 9.8 times out of 10, they will have been where you are — or will be in the future. And whether they can identify with your every parenting struggle or not, they can pray for your kids alongside you. It’s an invaluable gift to have friends who pray for your kids like they pray for their own. 

5. Remember God loves your kids more than you do. The older my kids become, the more I find that I have to trust God to reach my kids from the inside out, instead of trying to affect their behavior or choices from the outside in myself. I’d like to spare them from any hardship, and yet I know that through hardship God refines them into the people they’re meant to be — just like their parents are. Yes, we know our kids well, but God knows them even better. He knows what they need more than we do. He’s got a hand under our kids, and our kids are in good hands because of that.

It’s scary to fully release our kids into the world. But we aren’t helpless, either. While we can’t “do” for our adult kids like we used to, we can pray our guts out for God to do for them what’s best for them. We can be thankful that Jesus walks with them — and us. We can, in as far as it depends on us, live at peace with our children.

And in the meantime, we can water those growing plants through presence and prayer… and less talking. 

If you’re the mama of a recent graduate who’s flitting from the nest, Kristen has written The Changing Nest: A Devotional for the Mom of the Graduate just for you.

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

A Sure Way to Pray

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Do you ever find yourself at a loss for what to pray? Do you want to pray in alignment with God’s will but you’re not exactly sure what that looks like for your life?

A powerful practice is praying the Word of God. The Bible, especially the Book of Psalms, is filled with authentic and applicable prayers. When you take a passage, such as Psalm 25, and make tit your personal prayer, you can be confident that God hears you and will honor His words in your life.

Praying Scripture will bolster your faith, root God’s promises in your heart, and align your desires with your Heavenly Father’s.

Today we’re praying these words for you:

Show me the right path, O Lord;
    point out the road for me to follow.
Lead me by your truth and teach me,
    for you are the God who saves me.
    All day long I put my hope in you.
Psalm 25:4-5 NLT

How else can we pray for you?

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

Practicing True Hospitality + a Recipe for Berry Tarts

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At a conference I once attended, one of the keynote speakers was addressing the topic of hospitality when she said something that took my breath away. “True hospitality,” she said, “is when your guests leave your home feeling better about themselves, not feeling better about you.”

Those words left her mouth and punched me right in the stomach.

So often I am a hot mess before guests arrive. I whirl around the house, scrubbing and cleaning and arranging. I plan my meal so everything’s ready upon their arrival. I snap at my husband and plunk the kids in front of the TV so they’re not in my way. Do I want to create a lovely, warm, and welcoming atmosphere for my guests? Of course. Do I want them to leave feeling better about me? I did…

…but no more.

No more will I blame a small home for my lack of hosting. No more will I allow the mindset of perfection to rule my behavior. No more will I use my introversion as an excuse for not inviting people into my home. My guests deserve more from hospitality, and so do I.

As we enter the end of summer and start of back-to-school, may there be backyard gatherings, impromptu get-togethers, and block parties. In the midst of them, may we be mindful of our motivation. May ‘good enough’ truly be.

May our doors fling wide and our smiles spread wider. May we practice true hospitality.

by Anna E. Rendell, as published in the summer issue of Everyday Faith Magazine.

These end-of-summer days can be full of sunshine, camping, and barbecues. But don’t forget to make time to spend with the friends who make life sweet. Invite a pal over for a sweet, summery dessert — make these berry tarts by our friend Nancy! Print your free recipe card, brew the coffee, and text that friend to swing by for dessert.

Scroll down for the recipe (courtesy of our friend Nancy) and download a FREE printable recipe card!

Berry Tarts

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 25 minutes
Bake Time: none
Makes 6 tarts.

INGREDIENTS:

  • 6 dessert shells
  • 1 (8-oz.) block cream cheese, softened
  • 1/2 cup confectioners sugar
  • 1/4 tsp. vanilla
  • Raspberry or blueberry jam (1/2 tsp. per tart)
  • Fresh blueberries and raspberries, to top the tarts

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Make the filling: In a medium-sized bowl, mix together the softened cream cheese and confectioners’ sugar until smooth. Add the vanilla, blending everything together well; set aside.
  2. Arrange dessert shells on serving plate. Spread 1/2 tsp. jam onto the bottom of each dessert shell, then add 1 1/3 Tbsp. of the cream cheese filling mixture over the jam in each dessert shell.
  3. Top each filled tart with fresh blueberries and raspberries. Have fun making different fruit arrangements on top of the tarts!
  4. Serve immediately or refrigerate tarts until ready to serve.
  5. NOTE: You can use other kinds of fresh fruit to top the tarts, including sliced strawberries, blackberries, sliced kiwifruit, and sliced peaches.

To enjoy a look similar to what Nancy created here, use the Thankful 2-Tiered Plates and a Thankful Tea Towel, and voila! You’re ready for a beautiful dessert party!

Find these lovely pieces and more at Mary & Martha by DaySpring.

And let us know: How can you practice the art of true hospitality, right where you are, just as you are?

Grieving Life’s Small but Significant “Deaths” (Even When Others Don’t Understand Your Loss)

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When I scroll through my friends list on social media, there are a few people who are no longer with us in body. I just can’t bear the thought of “unfriending” them. For these friends and family members, I have grieved deeply, and those around me have understood my grief. I’ve taken days off of work, spent money on travel, and changed plans in order to grieve those people and relationships.

But this year, I realized that both my husband and I have been experiencing a different kind of grief. In the past few years, we’ve experienced several smaller “deaths” in our lives — losses that others don’t always recognize or understand.

Over five years ago, we moved to a new community. Both of our jobs changed dramatically, we were farther away from our kids, and, like everyone who has the privilege of growing older, we experienced physical changes.

These changes brought several small but significant “deaths” to us:

1. The death of our community after moving four hours away.

2. The death of identity because of changes in my job.

3. The death of how life “used to be” because of physical changes.

Let me tell you, the recovery from these small but significant “deaths” can be harder the older we get.

The systems to make friends and community are not there for those in our fifties the way they were in our twenties.

How the world views your “usefulness” changes the older you get.

And the body? The body I took for granted, the body that would bounce back after an injury or an illness? Well, she’s gonna need a minute …

While some people seem to take these changes in stride, it starts to wear on others of us when these small deaths keep coming. My identity should not be wrapped up in any one thing. Not in my profession, how I look, how I feel, or who I hang out with. But what else is identity than these hundreds (thousands?) of little things that make us who we are?

Change is hard. I’ve known that since I was a child.

What I didn’t know? Sometimes, change has to be grieved. Grief feels like a strong word, but I believe it is an accurate one.

I’ve noticed when my usually wonderful, get-along husband starts to get cranky, it’s not because he’s suddenly had a personality change; it’s because he is processing a grief he may not even understand.

And when I’m not behaving as my absolutely delightful self? I can now sit back and ask, “What is the loss that I’m experiencing but not acknowledging?” Because in that, I will find an underlying pain that I need to start working to heal.

When we moved to our new community, we needed to find a new church. We loved our church in the Bay Area and had built real friendships there, so we assumed that we would do the same in our new city in California.

But with a two-year pause because of Covid and living far from our new church (it takes over an hour to get there), it has been so much harder to make those connections.

Once we acknowledged that we were sad about the community we lost, we finally had a chance to grieve what we left behind. Finally, we’re starting to heal.

As a couple, we have stopped waiting for others to reach out just because they were at church first. We’re making the calls, inviting people to lunch, and going to events. Even when it feels awkward.

Sometimes I struggle because I know I’m experiencing a loss, but I don’t want to let myself feel the loss. It’s so much easier to pretend that I am not suffering, that if I can just wait out the grief, it will all go away, and I can get back to “life as normal.” But if there is one thing I’ve learned about grief, whether it’s the loss of a friend or the loss of an identity, it’s that grief is a one-way street; there is no going back the same way we came. That place of “before” no longer exists.

Psalm 30:5 (NIV) tells us, “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” This verse reminds us that while grief is real and valid, it’s not the end of the story.

So how do we move from acknowledging our grief to finding joy again?

1. Recognize and name your losses. Identify the specific “deaths” you’re experiencing.

2. Allow yourself to feel. Give yourself permission to grieve these changes. Cry. Journal. See a counselor. All of these steps can give you the permission you might need to feel the grief.

3. Embrace new opportunities. See how you can grow and adapt in your changed circumstances. I bet there are others who have gone through something similar. You can be there for each other.

As we navigate life’s transitions and the grief that comes with them, remember that it’s okay to mourn what we’ve lost. By acknowledging our small but significant “deaths” and working through our grief, we open ourselves up to new paths to walk going forward.

Want to learn more about building community in the mountains? Click here to check out Kathi’s book, The Accidental Homesteader.

Listen to Kathi’s devotion below or find it on the (in)courage podcast on your favorite app!

Why Chase Normal When You Can Rest in Love Instead?

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“I just wish we were a little bit more normal,” my son exclaimed, exasperated by our latest family endeavor: no screen Sundays.

Prior to this exclamation, I had been taking a break from social media because I’d been especially glued to my phone for the last year since launching a book. Even though it had been a year since the book was released, it was hard to get out of the habit of constantly checking in online and feeling like I needed to have my phone with me at all times.

Then, there were a few things that happened within our family as summer break approached, and it just became clear (to some of us) that we could use a day to reset, along with some other parameters, to help us be fully present and not let our lives revolve around our various screens.

Before I get much further, let me assure you that this article isn’t really about screens or what others should or should not do when it comes to decisions about social media, video games, and whatever else we consume on screens. My family has found a few great resources that have helped us along the way, but I want to be clear that this is something we are still trying to figure out with grace as we go, and we mostly feel like we don’t know if anything we are doing is working in the ways we hope. There’s no one-size-fits-all (or even one-size-fits-most) in this, and things keep changing at lightspeed when it comes to tech.

I felt defensive and hurt that day upon hearing that our family wasn’t “normal.” I wanted to defend our proximity to normal, but then I remembered how long I wanted the same thing when I was that age.

I thought my Koreanness, and the way we ate and lived in our home made me less normal while living in a country that centered whiteness as the norm and left little room for anything that diverted from that.

I thought about the world our kids are growing up in and what normal means to them in this world. Racism and social hierarchies haven’t really improved since I was a child, a teenager, and these things still impact our family almost every day. However, screens and the use of screens are something new and different since I was a kid; they impact my kids’ lives in a way that’s hard for me to understand.

While as a kid I wanted nothing more than for my own family of upbringing to blend in better, I’m now so glad my mom didn’t tone down her Korean cooking or put her kimchi away, hidden in another fridge, or act as if it didn’t matter if guests wore shoes in the house. I’m glad she stayed who she was, anchoring our family in who we were, even when I struggled with wanting to be less of us and appear to be more of some kind of normal that I could never truly belong to.

To this day, my kids and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye when it comes to screens and what’s normal. I’m trying to consider the world they are living in and trying to remember that their journeys will be filled with searches for belonging like and unlike my own.

The recent no-screen Sundays endeavor was just one thing in a list of many that my kids thought made us abnormal.

We will all struggle with the lie of normal throughout our lives. I see this just as often among adults and Christian adults no less, as I do among kids. The fight to name certain ways and people groups as normal while others are excluded seems to come with the heritage of our nation and world.

For now, my little family is sticking to our screen Sabbath along with other specific details and endeavors that make us the mixed-race Korean American family we are. I’m praying that though the pull towards other people’s versions of normal may always be there, my kids will feel that pull less and less as they rest in the love of God more and more. I’m praying the same for me and you too.

I keep asking myself this question while praying it will become a question my kids also embrace:

Why chase normal when you can flourish as one loved exactly as you are?

Listen to Tasha’s devotion below & follow the (in)courage podcast on your favorite app so you don’t miss an episode!

Temples, Trails, and When God Says “No”

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Twelve years ago, I read a blog post titled “Trailblazer”. There aren’t many pieces of writing I can remember in great detail from over a decade ago, but this one struck a chord. Like a small seed planted in the ground and watered over time, its roots have gone out and made themselves at home in the soil of my life.

Seasons have changed and years have passed, but to this day I remember the message and encouragement in Annie’s 2012 (in)courage article.

“You’re blazing a trail with your life for the younger women behind you,” Annie F. Downs said. “They will have their own overgrowth to challenge them, and they will lead the way for others. But for today, would you be intentional about cutting back as much brush as you can? Because you are making a way for them, saving them some pain that your bloodied arms prove is real, and honoring their footsteps by providing a clear path. Someone is watching. May they learn to blaze with integrity, honesty, faith, and heart.”

Annie wasn’t talking about me specifically, but there’s no doubt about it: In many ways, I’m one of the women walking the trail she helped clear.

Her words came to mind recently as I read 1 Chronicles 22.

At the beginning of the chapter, we see King David intentionally gathering materials to build the temple for the LORD. But just a few verses later, we learn that he’s actually making preparations for those who will come behind him. Instead of becoming bitter or angry when God said “no” to David building the temple, when he learned that his own son would be the one to do so, David responded by “making extensive preparations before his death” (1 Chronicles 22:5b NIV).

Verse after verse outlines the materials purchased and “craftsmen beyond number” that David purposely prepared so that when Solomon was ready to do what David himself longed to do, the path would be cleared in advance. In other words, David spent his days blazing a trail and opening doors for the next generation.

At the very end of 1 Chronicles 22, instead of grumbling over the “no” he received or becoming frustrated by the years dedicated to something he wouldn’t see to fruition, David speaks a blessing over Solomon’s work, life, and legacy.

Like track and field runners passing the baton in a relay, he gave everything he had for the one coming behind and then said, essentially, “It’s your turn, and I bless you as you go.”

I’ll admit, as I sat with this passage of Scripture, I was humbled and challenged by three questions.

  • How do I react when someone else receives the “yes” I long for?
  • What path can I intentionally clear for someone else?
  • What doors can I open for another, even if I never walk through them myself?

This doesn’t make receiving a “no” easy, and it certainly doesn’t mean we can’t talk to God about our grief, confusion, or disappointment. After all, nearly half of the Psalms written by King David are psalms of lament. But maybe, just maybe, there’s an unexpected gift tucked into every “no,” an invitation into a larger story, a baton to pass, or a trail to clear.

While writing this, I went back to re-read Annie’s words from July 2012 and gasped halfway through. In it, she mentioned being 31-years-old. It’s a minor detail, except that it’s now July 2024 and I’m a 31-year-old woman who is amazed yet again by the God who sees the whole story and yet still cares about the smallest of details.

He’s the One who cleared the ultimate path, who opened every door, who walks with us every step of every trail . . . but knows the tiny things we’ll notice, like breadcrumbs of manna along the way, a gentle reminder that He’s been right there all along and will guide us all the way Home.

Sometimes those breadcrumbs look like someone just up ahead saying “I’ve been this way before. Let’s walk together.” Sometimes the metaphorical door is opened before we raise our hand to knock, the key left in the lock. Sometimes the words or work of another seem small or even ordinary in the moment, but turn out to be exactly what is needed years later, like the materials David prepared in advance.

It can look one hundred different ways, but always, the One who is the Way and made the Way provides what and who we need each step of the way. And then He invites us to pass along what we’ve received, to push back the brush as we keep our eyes on Him.

Not everything is ours to do, but may it be said of us that even when we receive a “no,” we bless the ones coming behind.

May we be women who choose to celebrate instead of compete, who cheer instead of compare, who live and lead and love well. May we trust that there’s kindness and an invitation even in the “no,” and may we, as Paul says in Hebrews 12, run the race that’s set out specifically for us. May we give thanks for those who came before and may we pass the baton when it’s time.

May we walk with “integrity, honesty, faith, and heart.”

Amen.

If you’d like a little extra encouragement, whether you feel like you’re blazing a trail or limping along, join me over on Instagram… let’s walk together, looking for God’s goodness in the ordinary and His faithfulness in the difficult.

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

God Leans in Close to Hear the Voices of His Children

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My youngest son, Miles, whispers from his bed at night.

His words draw me close. “Mama,” he asks, “will you read to me?” Scooting over, he makes room for me under his blankets, and we snuggle in close before he asks one more thing of me. “Mama, ” he says, “sing me the song.

Quietly, I begin our familiar bedtime song and hear his little voice chime in before he gently drifts off to sleep.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
 
As I slip out of bed, tucking the covers gently around him and rubbing his back, I pause to listen to his tiny snores. I attempt to memorize the curve of his little cheeks. Then, kissing him on the top of his head, I breathe in the smell of his shampoo and notice the way his hair splays out on his pillowcase printed with dinosaurs.  
 
He’s perfect to me; he’s my child.
 
I am a mother of four and in this current season of life, we are very busy. But “busy” is not a badge of honor I wear proudly. In fact, most days, it is my deepest lament, as I witness time slipping through my fingers, wishing I could slow it down and take a deep breath.  

I often crave the ability to turn back time and call my own mother into my bedroom at night, asking her to read and sing to me and rub my back one more time, just like I did as a child. But, now I’m the grown-up. The mother, the one being called upon . . . but, sometimes, I’m too tired to do the reading, singing, and comforting requested of me.  
 
On those tired days, “mom guilt” clouds my mind and shame whispers a familiar song. You should be doing more, I hear, day in and day out. I lay my head on my pillow at night, willing sleep to come,  desperate to shut out all the noise. If only there were someone I could call on to read and sing to me. Someone to rub my back, pausing to memorize the things they love about me.

I’m reminded of a verse that bubbles up in my soul after years of keeping it on repeat in my heart.

Because he bends down to listen. I will pray as long as I have breath! 
Psalm 116: 2 

When I was a new mother suffering from postpartum depression, sleepless nights, a colicky baby, and breastfeeding struggles, it was in the quiet hours I would pray and think on that verse. I even had it taped up to our refrigerator. The mere idea of being known and seen with such deep affection always brought peace to my weary soul. 
 
In the busiest, hardest, most exhausting season of my life, I learned to quiet my mind with expectant comfort. As I tended to my children, leaning in to listen to their whispers, I would call out to God — desperate for relief and believing in a Father who knew every hair on my head. Often, tears would pool in the corners of my eyes, and my breath would choke as I squeaked out tiny-voiced prayers, all while patting the back of a colicky-crying baby in the wee hours of the night.

Even though the days were long — and the nights even longer — hope spilled into my soul at the mere thought of a big, powerful God leaning in close to hear me choke out prayers with what little breath I had.

So, now, when I find myself laden with mom guilt or the shame of not doing enough, feeling restless or worn out, this whisper of truth spills into my soul: 

When we cry out for comfort, our Heavenly Father hears us. 
 
God does not grow weary; He leans in close to hear the voices of His children.  

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

From Trash to Treasure

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Last week I popped into a local thrift store. This is nothing new for me. Thrifting, yard sales, and second-hand shopping are so much a part of my DNA that I even have a separate line item in my budget solely designated for thrifting. When I see an unsuspecting garage sale sign, I’m that annoying driver in front of you who slams on her brakes and makes a quick U-turn, but I always wave apologetically, acknowledging my impulsive decision.

While I’ve spent decades dusting old wares in second-hand stores, I understand that thrifting isn’t for everyone. Yet for me, the melting pot mentality of America is embodied in a thrift store. I love that people from all nations, socioeconomic and political backgrounds shop side by side on their trash-to-treasure hunting quest. At a thrift store, one can look around the parking lot and observe vehicles ranging from BMW’s to Beretta’s, find shelves stocked with both jewels and junk, and see purchasers who carry Amex Gold cards, food stamps, and everything in between.

So this day was like any other errand day. I gave myself a little margin to stop into a few stores between appointments because frequent store pop-ins and persistence are the answer to my friends’ lament, “Jen, you always find such great stuff. Why can’t I ever find anything?”

As I strolled the aisles with my eagle eyes and picked up a rusty odd-shaped bowl (or maybe it was a box, I hadn’t quite figured it out yet), the woman next to me inquired, “Now what would you do with that old thing?”

“That is a good question,” I replied. “ It doesn’t look like much, but it’s got a unique shape, so I think I’ll spray paint it and use it for cut flowers.”

“Hmm. I never thought of doing something like that before.” She moved down the aisle and picked up another item from the shelf. “How about this?”

And so it began. The next thirty minutes felt like a pilot to my new HGTV show where a shopping companion tries to stump me with every odd item in the store.

The funny thing was that this fellow shopper and I couldn’t have been more different. But I had a choice right then: I could easily view her questions as an irritating interruption to a busy schedule, or I could choose to see this opportunity of “hospitality on the go” as a divine appointment. I didn’t get much shopping done on that “quick” pop-in, but Mary (my new friend) and I bonded in a way that only the Lord orchestrates. 

As we rolled our carts towards the checkout, Mary paused, “Do you HAVE to shop at this store?” 

“Right now I don’t, but I’ve had seasons of unemployment and financial uncertainty when I did. The Lord amazed my family over and over again during those challenging times by providing sweet secondhand surprises. And better yet, He did it for pennies on the dollar allowing me to steward what little I had in my pocketbook.”

I knew she wasn’t expecting that kind of honesty, but I felt called to continue.

“I don’t know if you have any kind of faith story, Mary, but I truly believe that if Jesus walked these streets today, He would definitely hang out at His local thrift store. Not only would He love this kind of diversity, but there’s a Bible verse where we’re assured that He is the Master of ‘making all things new.’ If He can wipe our tears, heal the blind, and make the lame walk, surely He can surprise us by turning someone else’s trash into our treasure. I know because He’s done it for me time and time again. He is the giver of all good things.” (Read Revelation 21:3-5!)

I waited for her to laugh at my answer or call me crazy but instead, she declared, “I haven’t had this much fun shopping in a long time. I’ve learned so much from you and I wish I could shop with you all the time.”

We gave each other a quick awkward hug. I mean, we were essentially strangers, but it didn’t feel that way anymore. And to think that I almost rushed by her in the aisle because I viewed her as an interruption rather than a divine appointment. I’m grateful that the Lord loves us enough to use us even in the middle of people’s discarded second-hand finds. He certainly is making all things new. 

Have I made you a believer? Do you have a fun thrift store find or story to share?

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

Let These 5 Truths Sink in Today

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God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.
Ephesians 2:8-10 NLT

You might already know these truths, but sometimes the things we are most familiar with or the ones we unknowingly dismiss, are the ones we need to revisit and really let sink in.

Read our passage in Ephesians 2 again and then let God’s beautiful truth saturate your heart:

You are saved by grace!
All you have to do is believe in God. He does the rest!

God’s grace is a gift!
You don’t have to earn God’s love or favor or help. In fact, you can’t! All you can do is receive the gift of His love, forgiveness, and grace.

You are His masterpiece!
God is so delighted with who you are and how He made you.

You are made new in Jesus!
You are not the sum of the mistakes you’ve made. You are the totality of God’s craftsmanship and Christ’s redemption. God calls you a new creation. He sees His beloved daughter every time He looks at you. 

He has good things planned for you to do!
If you feel aimless or insignificant, you can trust that God has a plan and purpose for your life. Ask the Holy Spirit to guide you each day — He’ll show you what to do.

When Your Heart Is Broken and You Can Do Nothing but Pray

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I grew up on the coast.

Foggy mornings giving way to sunny days giving way to foggy nights. There is something breathtaking about standing on the shore in the dark as the beach fog rolls in. You can’t see and your eyes burn with the cold and the crisp air. You learn to see through — through foggy sky and burning eyes. 

I tiptoe through my days now, praying with every breath, praying with every stitch I knit. I watch jays fly overhead and I stand in the chill of night while rain beats down. I take in every glowing star, delighting in each night’s moon, refusing to take anything for granted. Just as I couldn’t see well through the beach fog and the burning eyes, I can’t see straight sometimes when the tears cloud my green eyes. But it’s okay because the tears don’t fall, they sit there as a reminder that there is Something Greater than all of this and I don’t need to see. I don’t. I just need to remember there is Someone Greater.  

I spend a day heartbroken over the darkness — a friend’s mother dies from cancer just a few weeks after they learn it is consuming her; a broken system lets the killer of a loving father and husband off because of a badge, again; precious children shot and killed in school; darkness and turmoil just rage and people can’t hear past the pain and there is hate and hurt and where is hope? As the moon rises gloriously, once again, hope creeps in with phone calls — a dear friend’s beautiful engagement after divorce, and the birth of new life to a friend. I rejoice and I mourn and I wonder how to keep going when things don’t make sense. Yet, it’s the tears and the cloudiness that remind me:

I don’t need to see; I just need to remember there is Something Greater.  

I reach out to one of the wisest voices I know, begging for something, some insight, something to make the heartache lessen. I find truth in her words: “I think in some ways, that’s our job here — to mourn with those who mourn and keep being witnesses to the suffering.”

I witness. I do. I witness the pain, the suffering, the hurt. I witness the darkness while I hold my candle, flame aglow, this little bit of light. Yes, this little bit of light is the Light and I will hold it while you cry and I will cry with you, not letting this Light go out. And together we will walk. We will walk through your darkness and in your pain. We will walk and the Light will shine even when we are consumed. 

My wise friend speaks more to my weary heart. “Maybe this is where we find real humility, Amy, in this heartbroken place, knowing we can do nothing but pray and love?”

I hear the cries, the pain, the anger and I can do nothing, nothing, but pray and love. I want someone who can do something to hear their cries, to hear me. The only Someone who can do anything does hear them, does hear me.

Clouded, teary, burning eyes don’t need to see; we just remember Something Greater hears us. He hears us and He weeps with us. Oh, He weeps. The Light, shining in this darkness, weeping for our pain. And He will wipe our tears. He will bring vision and light once again. A little bit peeks through — life, love, marriage, birth.

He is here in the midst. Pray and love. Pray and love. There is comfort to be found. 

What It’s Like to Be Single on a Sunday

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On a typical Sunday morning, I make my way to the closet to find something to wear that’s comfortable but also relatively stylish. I didn’t come from a church background that required fancy attire or anything, but I do like the idea of getting a little dressed up.  I often sleep a bit longer than I anticipated which means I have less time than anticipated to have breakfast. My dream is that I wake up one Sunday with enough time to make an actual meal and sit down and enjoy it, but about half the time I grab a quick bite that I can eat on the road like a piece of toast. The other 50% of the time, I rely on the basket of free bread in the foyer of my church.

I go to a small Baptist Church on the coastline of New England and it is full of lovely people who deeply care for me. Yet in addition to the Sunday Bread Basket, I can also rely on a heightened awareness of my singleness when I walk into the sanctuary. It’s not that people are cold; in fact, my church is unusually hospitable. Still, I have entered the building alone and I now have to find a place to sit.

It feels silly to be a 35-year-old woman who feels a bit like a junior higher when she looks around the room, wondering where she belongs. Sometimes, I will sit with a retired couple or perhaps a young family. But every week, it fluctuates because I don’t have a built-in person that I can always sit beside.

 There are dozens of ways that you can feel extra single when you walk into a church, and over the years I’ve constructed ways to cope.  For example, I try to find a spot quickly near someone I know so I don’t have to wander and stay in the feeling of loneliness that can sometimes settle when you are looking for an invitation.  More often than not, when someone at our church is about to sit down. This inquiry involves a certain level of vulnerability and the possibility of rejection if the seat is, in fact, taken.

I tell you these things not so that you will feel sorry for me, or other single people, but so that you might consider what is going through our heads even on the best of Sundays. I know that I have friends who are happy to welcome me in, but as a single person, we often have to be the ones to show up to the party, knock on the door, and wait for a reply. 

 Finding a place to sit is only the first step to what can be several challenging circumstances for those who have no partner. 

For example, during the announcements, it’s more likely than not that there will be some sort of special event put on for families or couples. Or perhaps there is an opportunity to join a small group, but we don’t know what demographic we fit into. We aren’t young 20-somethings anymore, nor are we young families. There is not always a ministry for single people. Or consider this: pastors often use stories in their sermons about their experience as a parent or a spouse.  How relatable is that? For much of the congregation, plenty, but for those with no children or spouse, we just have to sort of nod along and try to imagine what it must feel like.

Being single in the local church can feel like a constant exercise in trusting the process. We know that church is the place that we need to be, and we believe that this community is like an actual family. This is a sacred thing for those of us who do not go home to a family. Still, we are sitting in pews and listening to announcements and wondering if our experience matters. Then we are met with this grand finale: what are we going to do after the service?

Do we awkwardly walk away to our cars or do we linger and try to make small talk?  And once all of this is over, what are we going to do for lunch? This question can be daunting at worst and a little disappointing at best, because lunch after church on Sunday would be a prime opportunity to connect with others and when it doesn’t happen, it can feel a bit like salt in a wound. For the other 20 meals of the week, we have to plan out not only our menus but also our company. There is no built-in companion at the dining room table, which can leave many single people feeling like they need to come up with the energy to make plans if they just want to eat a sandwich in the presence of another person.

 Each meal as a single person takes effort, not just in energy, but also in emotion.

This is what I want you to know:  by the time we get to the church service, we are already aware that we are surrounded by community while struggling with loneliness. It’s not always a depressing mess, but it does take effort, energy, and a bit of bravery to show up to big community events.

I wonder what would happen if those who attended church started texting the single congregants and asking them ahead of time to make a plan for lunch after church on a Sunday.  I wonder how many single people would walk into church feeling lighter, knowing that they have an invitation to be with others after the service.

Scripture reminds us in Ephesians 4 that we are all part of the body of Christ, but sometimes we miss out on one another and it actually means that the church is not as strong as it could be. If a member of the body is feeling disconnected, it’s really vital that we make sure a connection is made. Before a single friend has a chance to even process the awkwardness of finding a place to sit on a Sunday, invite them to join you. Before a single friend has a chance to get to their car and go home to a sandwich and no conversation partner, ask them if you can have them over for a meal.

So often, single people say they don’t feel welcome in the church, so I want to give you this antidote: welcome them. 

 If people know we are Christians by our love, this feels like a good place to start.

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

For Anyone Who Thinks She’s Failing

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Many summers ago, according to my to-do list, I was failing.

I had blown so many self-imposed deadlines. Major goals on my list remained unmet. Even small projects around the house were back-burnered. With the kids home, my day was a symphony of constant interruptions, sounding like the clatter of breakfast, the rushing toward music lessons, the whirring of the washing machine.

In an effort to stay sane, I prayed the same prayer every single morning: “God, help me to make choices today that honor Your plans for my life.”

I determined to follow God’s agenda rather than trying to convince Him to help me carry out mine. This is no small task for a woman with a rather robust inner control freak. There are times when I secretly hope God will empower me to plow through my to-do list rather than equip me for His.

But God is totally on to me. The old saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans,” summed up my summer. Sure, there were moments of terrific productivity. But often, my daily prayer led me miles away from the office.

As it turns out, that summer was exactly what my agenda-driven heart needed. Which is to say, my soul needed a place to breathe. My soul needed days of cute kittens, impromptu picnics with the girls, kayak rides, and petunias — alongside satisfying days of productivity.

I can’t simply walk away from my work, of course. But I have surrendered my agenda to the God of The Calendar. I choose to be sustained by the belief that God will help me complete the work He has called me to do . . . in His time.

Maybe you’ve been like me — caught between your grand plans and your actual life. Maybe you’ve been feeling a little panicky that what you intended to do, simply hasn’t gotten done. Maybe what we all really need right now is to remember that God has this all under control. We get to simply pray, “God, help me to make choices today that honor Your plans for my life.” Amen!

This devotion was written by Jennifer Dukes Lee as appears in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle.

Our honesty + God’s truth is often the intersection of new strength!

This is what you’ll find in the pages of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle. This beautiful devotional journal brings you relatable stories like Jennifer’s, along with life-line Scriptures, space to journal your prayers or takeaways, and a daily spot to record how God is meeting you with His strength. (And He will!) You can get a copy at DaySpring, Amazon, or wherever books are sold.

Earlier this summer, we took part in a Strength in Any Struggle book club with thousands of women who are part of the Mary & Martha team and DaySpring family! We’ve pulled a dozen live videos from our (in)courage writers and are now making them available for YOU!

Check out this NEW YouTube playlist for more personal stories, biblical teaching, practical application, and soul encouragement for whatever struggle you face today.

And share this post with a friend who could use some extra support too! We’re in this together.

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