For the One Feeling a Little Tired Today

For the One Feeling a Little Tired Today

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Perhaps you’re having a day when you feel a little tired, when you’re struggling with aches in your bones or your heart. “What happened?” you might ask yourself, “I thought I was doing well.” And you are.

Things like growth, healing, and progress never happen as one continual climb. No, they come like waves. Victory, then struggle. Strength, then weariness. Success, then a setback. This isn’t a sign that you are falling behind. This is simply the natural rhythm of a human body and soul.

Jesus starts His ministry with a miracle at a wedding. He speaks powerfully and gains disciples. He has a well-known conversation with Nicodemus. Then He leaves town and we’re told this: “Jesus, tired from the long walk, sat wearily beside the well about noontime” (John 4:6 NLT). You may be in a season of a long walk too.

A long walk of waiting for answers.

A long walk of healing.

A long walk of coming alongside someone you love.

A long walk of faithfulness in a hard situation.

A long walk of victory and seeing God do powerful things in your life.

If you’re tired and you need to sit down wearily, it isn’t a failure. It isn’t weakness. It isn’t proof that you can’t keep up.

If you’re tired and you need to sit down wearily, you’re following the example of a Savior who knows what it’s like to be human.

It’s at this well where Jesus sits down that He meets a Samaritan woman and has a transformational conversation with her. I love this because it shows us, God worked through Jesus when He was tired and weary.

Jesus needing to slow down and rest didn’t pause God’s plan for His life. Instead, it opened up a different kind of opportunity for God to work.

It’s easy to believe God can only use us when we’re at our best, strongest, and fastest. But God’s purposes don’t require a certain level of energy or a pace we must maintain. He can work in our slowest moments and our swiftest, in the times when we’re moving forward and when we can’t take one more step. He used Jesus when He turned water into wine at a wedding and when He sat down wearily by a well.

Why is this possible? Because the work of God doesn’t depend on us. “Jesus told them, ‘This is the only work God wants from you: Believe in the one he has sent’” (John 6:29 NLT).

Sometimes the hardest part of believing is trusting we’re loved in every moment.

You’re loved when you’re working.

You’re loved when you’re resting.

You’re loved when you’re full of energy.

You’re loved when you’re exhausted.

You’re loved when you’re ministering.

You’re loved when you’re curling up to take a nap.

You never have to be afraid that you’re letting God down by being human. Your loving God is compassionate toward your tiredness. Your faithful God is able to use even your weakest moments to show His strength. Your limitless God isn’t held back by your limitations.

Feeling tired doesn’t mean you’re failing; it means you’re trying hard. You only grow weary when you’ve put forth effort of some kind — emotional, mental, physical, professional, spiritual (maybe all of the above).

Who have you loved, although imperfectly?

What worthy cause have you fought for, even if victory isn’t sure yet?

How have you pursued a goal, chased a dream, nurtured your own healing?

When you’re tired, it can feel like the right thing to do is push harder. Spur on your soul like a stubborn horse. Add another shot to your coffee, stay up an hour later, lengthen your to-do list, shorten your patience with yourself.

But what if the invitation of Jesus, who described His heart as gentle and lowly, is to do the opposite? The One who spoke the world into being has no trouble with completing tasks, no concern that you won’t pull your weight. He even carried a cross so your burden would not be heavy but light.

Honor your tiredness the way you would a warrior. Say to it, “You are proof that much good has been done, much love has been shared, much life has been lived.” Welcome it the way you would a soldier returning from war. Feed it, let it sleep, wrap a blanket around its shoulders.

Trust that your tiredness is a visitor — it’s not here to stay. Give it space to be with you for a bit, and it will go on its way. You don’t have to ignore it, don’t need to evict it, just offer it some compassion and perhaps a cup of tea, some sacred silence, or an evening on the couch watching TV.

When you wake in the morning, it may be gone, having slipped away somewhere in the night. If it’s still there, that’s alright.

You’re a human being with bones and a soul, nerves and elbows, a heart that beats almost one hundred thousand times a day. Tiredness will sometimes be your companion. This isn’t a flaw; it’s simply a fact — one you share with all the other billions of people on this planet and a perfect Savior who once napped on a boat in a storm.

You are tired today.
You are fully loved.
You are doing well.
All of these can be true at the same time.

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

Answer This: Is Jesus Truly Enough?

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Following Jesus is not easy. Taking up my cross, sacrificing, and surrendering is not what I had in mind for my summer plans. I feel broken, bruised, battered, and, quite honestly, at times, even defeated.

This season, I’ve cried hard. You know, the kind of crying where snot streams down your face, racing the tears that won’t stop? That kind.

As a follower of Jesus, it sometimes feels like I’m constantly being hit from all sides. I know I’m supposed to trust God in the process, but right now, the process hurts more than the progress. What do we do when the price of suffering feels greater than the outcome?

Every day, I strive to keep it together so that no one else is disheartened by my struggles. I am seen as a leader, a preacher, and a disciple-maker. Most importantly, I am a child of God. However, I often feel depleted, having given all that I have. 

At times, I find myself losing the will to keep the faith and wanting to give up, believing that trusting in myself is better than trusting God. Yet, amid this reality, Jesus has met me. He continues to pursue me, showering me with His love. His love pursues me even when I fail to notice because I have found temporary solace in what’s been comfortable: survival rather than choosing to live in freedom.

My struggles this season have been my thoughts, attitudes, and stubbornness. I know God tells me to cast my cares on Him because He cares for me, but often, doubt takes root and I wonder if He really cares. My experiences seem to suggest otherwise — my growing burdens and long-suffering prayers a seemingly clear indication of God’s lack of concern. And that’s where I’ve gone astray. Perhaps you have, too. 

I have often traded His goodness for my own, making it about what makes me feel good. I placed my emotions on the throne instead of allowing God to be Lord and giving Him lordship over my emotions. I gave my feelings permission to dictate my posture, thus replacing God in the equation.

Today, God’s invitation to me and to you is a wholehearted surrender. Like a robber caught red-handed, arms flailing to the sky, finally giving up, we too have the opportunity to confess that we’re a wild mess and accept that Jesus is enough; the cross is enough. 

We must reach the end of ourselves, where we can wholeheartedly proclaim, “You can have all this world, but give me Jesus.”

I’ve been grappling with hard questions, “Is Jesus truly enough? Would He be enough if I never wrote that book, spoke on another platform, or saw another dream fulfilled?” 

I may not know the specifics of your life or the idols you have chosen, but one thing is sure: we all have our own set of them. Don’t misunderstand me. The Lord cares for you, including your dreams, goals, and desires — after all, He gave them to you. But He also cares for your soul. Jesus must be above all else in our lives. Nothing in this world can fill the void that was only meant to be filled by Him.

Take a moment to reflect on this crucial question: Is Jesus truly enough for you? 

If you answer no, may I offer you the gift the Lord has often offered me this season? Repentance. This is an opportunity to surrender, confess, and rid yourself of the idols that you’ve been relying on. Recognize that victory comes through Him. Proclaim that Jesus is and will forever be enough; nothing else will do.

While there is still a cross to carry and a call to be a living sacrifice and die to self, I’ve learned that His grace is sufficient for me, as it is for you, too. Even with tears streaming down your face and every part of you wanting to give up, trusting the process means that even though we may not understand the plan, we trust the One leading. He has never failed and never will, and although we may feel broken, bruised, and battered, through Jesus we are certainly never defeated.

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

A Friend of Sinners

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Our family lake day didn’t start quite as I planned. The weather was perfect: Sunshine and 90 degrees, nice and hot like a lake day is meant to be. But then right when we parked, we realized we left our canopy tent at home, our only means of shade on a blistering day. 

I closed my eyes, took a breath.

Just let it go, Michele.

“No problem, babe,” I told my husband. “We’ll adjust.” So he drove to another spot where we found a lone cottonwood tree on a long stretch of beach and set up our day camp. It was perfect, even better than a tent, to be honest. But then, while unpacking, we discovered we also left some of our water gear at home. And then the pump for the inflatable kayak and ski tube didn’t work.  

Breathe, Michele. Not a big deal. We can still have fun. 

Again, we improvised and made the best of it. It was still going to be a good day. 

Soon, my husband and kids set out to do some boating. And I was left behind with nothing but a beach chair, ice-cold sparkling water, and a great book. After more than two hours of prep and chaos, everything had come together perfectly. 

I closed my eyes and exhaled, savoring the peace and quiet. It was worth all the hassle and headache for this moment. 

However (you knew it was coming), not more than 30 minutes later I noticed a young couple walking in my direction.

“Hi!” the young man said, as he dropped their blankets, cooler, and blow-up couch (I kid you not) eight feet from where I sat with my book and sparkling water. 

My friends, I’d love to tell you that I matched his friendliness with equal enthusiasm. But disappointment is a powerful force. And in a hot second, my many years of Bible study and church attendance were swallowed up by acute irritation at the rude interruption. I fell short of outright hostility but my posture toward this young man and his girlfriend was, at best, FROSTY. Brrr. Even more so when he lit his pipe and started smoking (not tobacco), then turned on his music so he could jam on the beach. 

“Do you have a music preference?” he asked with a smile. “I don’t want to completely interrupt your quiet afternoon.” 

Too late, I muttered under my breath. A small voice somewhere in the recesses of my mind tried to keep me Christian with words like, “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32 NIV). But all I could see was how my perfect day’s plans were going up in pipe smoke and reggae.

I wish I could tell you that I immediately felt the conviction of the Holy Spirit and did an about-face with my attitude. I did not. Nor did I feel remorse when the couple packed up their things and left. It wasn’t until the following day when I pulled out my Bible to spend time with Jesus that His words finally worked conviction in my heart:

“The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard,
a friend of tax collectors and sinners.'”
Matthew 11:19 NIV

A friend of tax collectors and sinners.

Tax collectors were seen as traitors, cheats, and opportunists who used others for personal gain. They were some of the worst of humanity, despicable, and ostracized. Far worse than an intrusive young couple who wanted to share my shade on a public beach.

And yet, those who were ostracized by people like you and me were welcomed by Jesus. In fact, they drew near to Him, coming closer and closer like moths to a light. There was something about Jesus that made the lonely feel like they’d come home, even if they didn’t have their life together.

Alas, the church-y people around Jesus couldn’t see past their irritation:

“Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.'”
Luke 15:1-2 NIV

In his book Gentle and Lowely, Dan Ortland says it this way: “Though the crowds call him the friend of sinners as an indictment, the label is one of unspeakable comfort for those who know themselves to be sinners. That Jesus is friend to sinners is only contemptible to those who feel themselves not to be in that category.”

God forgive me, I was the worst sort of Pharisee last week on the lake. Rather than open my arms, I folded them, justifying my judgments every step of the way. I have much yet to learn about the heart of the Father toward His children.

How about you? Who do you ostracize or avoid because of how they don’t fit into your perfect plan? Don’t worry, I’m not going to judge you. I have my hands full focusing on my own frosty heart. But I will leave you with something to consider, and I will do the same:

Jesus doesn’t simply tolerate interruptions and the people who make them. He welcomes them. He seeks them out. He finds the people most unwanted and out of place, and rather than wait for them to make a fuss, He pulls out a chair and offers them a seat. Why? Because they aren’t an interruption to His plan — they are His plan.

So am I. And so are you. Tax collectors and sinners, one and all.

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

A Reason to Be Truly Glad

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“So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you must endure many trials for a little while. These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold — though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world.

You love him even though you have never seen him. Though you do not see him now, you trust him; and you rejoice with a glorious, inexpressible joy. The reward for trusting him will be the salvation of your souls.”
1 Peter 1:6-9 NLT

It’s easy to feel like the trials we are facing today will always be this way. It’s easy to believe that no good could possibly come from the hard, the unjust, or the pain in our lives. But Scripture reminds us of this:

There is purpose in the trials we face.

Are brokenness and betrayal, cancer and car accidents from God? Of course not! These are the consequences of living in a fallen world. But the impact of sin and suffering doesn’t have the final say! (Pause and praise God for that!)

Because God is faithful to work through everything for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28), He uses the very things we’d rather avoid to strengthen our faith, invite us to trust Him, and ultimately give us greater joy in Jesus.

“So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you must endure many trials for a little while.”

God Isn’t Distant. Here’s How to See His Glory Right Here and Now

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It takes five miles of walking to wear me out, but I’m short on time and steps. So, I do what any logical person who cracked an ankle on the sharp edge of a counter and now wears Chaco sandals to mask the injury — I run.

As my breathing settles into a rhythm, I remember running on the dirt road leading to my grandparents’ ranch. Then, seven-year-old me wasn’t tired. My parents noticed . . . told me I could be a distance runner. 

Except I never was.

I rarely ran, even when I could, because I never gave myself the chance to love it. 

The next morning, I take a run and test my ankle on the one lane road with tall trees and enfolding peace. I run past my usual turnaround, and inhale honeysuckle and woods as I survey all that beautiful Daniel Boone land, later named Kentucky. I turn off the song playing on repeat and let my earbuds amplify the pound of my feet, the pulse of my heartbeat. 

It’s a different kind of listening, a stilling more than a leaning in. I surrender to it, scoop up wide open air and rustling leaves and the cheerful chirrup of birds. I have no expectation, no question scraping my insides, none of tomorrow’s to-dos. Just one lane of pavement and white lines stretching out of sight. 

A week goes by and I run again, this time so I’m facing the sun before it rises. I know I’ll pay for it with a swollen ankle, but I so desperately want to catch the sunrise, like I did that one time on Hilton Head Island. I want to be in awe, as colors rise and spread fragrant across the sky. I want to taste the wonder, touch God’s nearness.

In her book One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp wrote about chasing the moon and ocean waves lifting, lulling, cresting. I recall Ann’s words as Rick Pino’s song, “Your Love Is Like an Ocean,” runs through my head, and it makes me want to feel alive and chase the wonder with that same kind of lovestruck abandon.

I’d bet you do too. 

Because . . . busy is a burden we weren’t meant to hold. We were made for more than monotony and boredom and settling. God isn’t distant, dry, or predictable — He’s adventure and searing holiness and the whisper to taste, see, and delight is in His goodness (Psalm 34:8).

Sometimes, that means pausing . . . turning off the music, watching the sun rise, and then stooping to photograph it through the tall grass at the edge of the road. Other times, it means running towards it. Breaking a sweat, gulping lungfuls of air, willing yourself to keep going. 

I’ve been content to live too much of my life numb. I keep a tight rein on my emotions, pretend I don’t care when, in fact, I do have preferences and things that make me ache. I’ve told myself God’s glorious presence is for fleeting moments — only sneak peeks of what heaven will be like, not for every day enjoyment.

Out here, however, the ordinary and eternal intermingle, and my heart sings this truth: God is all around me. Longing thins the distance my apathy constructs, opens my eyes to see that glory saturates the scene before me.  

It’s me, not Him who forgets to pursue. Me who stops responding to His standing invitation to be found.

You and I don’t have to wait for the moon or the sunrise or the roar of the ocean. We sell ourselves short of the deep joy of knowing God unless we chase after Him, give ourselves permission to bow low in awe and feel our way through ache and hope.

I’m stilling running — but now I slow my pace because my phone tells me it’s sunrise time. It’s just soft yellow, barely bold or bright yet . . . but it’s glory peeping in, brimming over onto a waiting world.

I’m not disappointed. God is no less glorious in this mundane moment — and I’m here for it. 

We All Need a Soft Place to Land

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Two of my best friends and I got together for dinner, shopping, and girl time on a recent Friday night, like we’ve done a million times before. These infrequent but essential outings allow us to catch up and sometimes blow off steam since we’ve created a safe space to vent.

We raised our families together, but over the past two springs, the final two kids graduated from high school. In the past, we discussed pregnancy woes, potty training, and survival tips for parents of teens. Now we talk about parenting our adult children, traveling without them, and goals for our empty nest years (one of us is already there; for two of us, it’s on the horizon).

We began our evening on a lawn filled with folks who’d come for an outdoor concert from a ’70s and ’80s cover band, then we wandered into a clothing store so one of us could pick out a dress for an upcoming event. Over dinner, our conversations went deep, in that way unique to friendships with the firmest foundations. Eventually, we returned to a bench on the lawn with cake, ice cream, and clear plastic cups of Prosecco.

Two of us paid extra attention to the third that night. After the tragic death of her husband this spring, we listened when she needed to talk and offered advice when she needed to think things through. We planned a fun weekend trip during her birthday month this fall. We laughed and dried our tears, sometimes simultaneously.

In a moment of clarity, I recognized these friends will likely carry me through the same or something similar someday.

Hard things await us all. Expecting them doesn’t always make it easier. Often, we’re blindsided. My friends talked me through a panicked call from one of my children as we sat on the lawn that night and I’m thankful they were there.

I read a lot of craft articles about writing, but when I came across one recently on how to write characters’ traumatic experiences when you’ve experienced none yourself, I skipped it. Unfortunately, I can’t relate to a trauma-free life. Fortunately, however, I can use what I’ve learned to become a better—and more compassionate—writer, friend, and human being.

Someone half my age told me that the older she gets, the less patience she has with other people, but I’ve found the opposite to be true. The more times life punches me in the gut or brings me to my knees, the more sympathy I have for the human condition.

Do I always understand what the people around me are going through? No, and neither do you. The distracted driver in front of you may be reeling from a phone call from her husband or her doctor or her child that just upended her life.

The older woman staring into space and blocking the bananas in the grocery store might be a dear lady from my church whose husband just passed away in their sixtieth year of marriage. I’m sure she hasn’t shopped alone in decades.

The friend who says she’s fine when her face tells a different story may need a quiet moment with you, a gentle question, and a listening ear.

Your cranky teen might be dealing with more than hormones.

Can you remember a time you maintained a normal facade while falling apart on the inside? I can.

We’re instructed to “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2 NKJV). When we choose kindness as our first response instead of our last, we make the world a more gracious place and provide the people around us with a soft place to land.

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast player. Just search “(in)courage podcast”!

I Was Not Alone and Neither Are You

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There have been a handful of times in my life when I felt completely alone. Recently, I experienced one of those times. My husband, Darian, and I found ourselves in a valley of decisions that I did not want to be in. A few years ago we purchased a property in a cute, vacation destination area. It needed a great deal of work, but we were there for it. We affectionately referred to it as Big View Lodge. We thought it was the perfect place for our growing family to gather a few times a year to holiday together. We also knew we’d have to rent it out some to make it work.

We had several family gatherings there and made incredible memories. We cooked and shared meals, laid out in hammocks, had bonfires, played games, drank coffee, watched movies, laughed, and even cried together in this home. On occasion, we brought friends with us and even had a women’s ministry retreat there. I could imagine sharing this home with my friends and family for generations. 

But instead of sharing our lodge with people we love for decades to come, we sold it.

Through a series of unfortunate events and misguided information, we were no longer able to rent out the lodge. (That twisted road was full of prayer, heart checks, and forgiveness.) But I did not want to sell the house. I had become emotionally attached to the dream of it being used to bless our family and others. Yet I don’t usually get attached to things. I changed homes eight times before I graduated high school. I’ve changed homes eight times since. Additionally, Darian and I have flipped several houses in our marriage. I’ve never been attached to any of them.

Through some soul searching, I realized it wasn’t the house in particular I was attached to. It was the idea of who we could share it with, the dream of my kids and grandkids making memories there, and the reality that I wasn’t getting a choice about whether to sell it or not. I can sell a home easily when it’s my choice, but this wasn’t.

I cried out to the Lord to do a miracle. I was hoping for the happy ending that arrives in every Christmas movie where the family farm or lodge is in jeopardy.  I just knew the Lord was going to come through for me. He did come through — just not in the way I expected Him to. 

I had prayed, fasted, worshiped, thanked the Lord, and even did a Jericho march. Yet, the day came when I had to sign the papers over to someone else. It was so discouraging. The week leading up to selling the lodge I felt a little like King David when he was praying for his child to live (2 Samuel 12). I know this may seem dramatic and normally I’m even not a dramatic person. I simply know that the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy and that Jesus came to give life to the full (John 10:10).

This felt like something was being stolen. It felt like the thief had won. 

On our way into town to sign the papers over to the new owners I had a conversation with the Lord. I told Him, “Father, I feel so alone.” I said that to Him two or three times. Then I finally heard softly, sweetly, and sternly, “That is not truth. You are not alone. Think about what things are true.“

I immediately knew what the Lord was saying. He was telling me His character has never been, nor will it ever be, to leave me or forsake me. 

Right then and there I repented. I knew the Lord was right. I began to say to myself, “You will never leave me nor forsake me (Deuteronomy 31:6). You, Lord, are for me, and if you are for me, who could be against me (Romans 8:31)? You are my ever-present help in time of need” (Psalm 46:1). I had to change the way I was thinking. Thinking I was alone, made me feel alone.

I was never alone in this scenario or any other. As soon as I reminded myself what the Word of God says, it changed how I felt. My emotions adjusted to the Word of God.

Just like I was not alone, you are not alone. Whatever you’re going through, whatever the obstacle is, God has not left you. He is there. He is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). We have to take our thoughts captive (2 Corinthians 10:5). It’s easy to get caught up in the emotions of something hard, hurtful, and even unfair. We can throw ourselves a pity party and think we’re all alone. It reminds me of when the disciples were all in the boat with Jesus when the storm came. They were all freaking out and afraid. They woke Jesus up and asked Him if He even cared that they were about to die. 

I always thought it was ridiculous of them to accuse Jesus of not caring. However, there have been many times I’ve done the same thing. I may not have said it exactly like they did, but I meant it.

We see that Jesus does care. He ended up calming the storm for them. Jesus calmed the storm inside of me and He’ll calm the storm for you too.

If you’re thinking today, that you’re alone or the Lord does not care, listen. You will hear Him say to you what He said to me, “That is not truth. You are not alone. Think about what things are true.” Then find the truth in God’s Word and think and say those things.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they would have life, and have it to the full.”
John 10:10 NIV

Though we sold our lodge, the Lord turned it around for our good. He truly does give us life to the full.

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

Giving up Good for God’s Best

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As I held the rose in my hand, the leader of the evening’s artistic presentation at the women’s conference asked our crowd to ponder the question: What do you need to lay down at Jesus’s feet?

We were invited to lay down situations that we’d been discouraged about, anything that consumed our prayers, or unfulfilled longings that we were losing hope of ever coming to fruition.  

I fingered the edges of my fabric rose and merged into the line with the rest of the women moving toward the front. A few steps remained, and I asked, “God, what are You inviting me to lay down and give to You?”

Do you ever ask God a question but not really expect Him to answer? Sometimes, we don’t hear anything and assume that God isn’t listening or doesn’t care. Other times, we don’t ask because we fear God’s answer, namely that He won’t give us what we want.   

Yet instantly when I asked, a crystal-clear whisper spoke to my heart: I want you to lay down your desire for marriage.

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I hurried to blink them away. I was the speaker for the event the next day, and this didn’t seem like a good time to melt into a pile of tears. This wasn’t the answer I expected, nor was it the answer I wanted. Yet, the wooden cross stood before me, and I believed that answer was from God. I whispered a shaky “okay” and laid my dream before God.

I compartmentalized that moment for the next two days behind many smiles and an earnestness to serve the women God brought me to speak to at the event. When I returned home, I dropped my bags and followed the old saying: “Take to my bed.”

I questioned God: Is this really what You’re asking me to lay down before You?

My spirit was weighed down by sadness, even though I was glad I’d obeyed. After going through a divorce five years ago, I’d been praying for God-honoring, lasting love. Dating as a believer had been challenging, but I committed to honoring God even if I did live out my remaining years as a single Christian woman. I never expected to sense that God would ask me to lay my dream down. 

Sitting in my bed, I remembered Abraham traveling with his son Isaac to Mount Moriah. After waiting many many years for a son, which God miraculously provided, God asked Abraham to sacrifice that same son. I’ve always wondered what kind of conversation Abraham had with his wife, Sarah, about that watershed day… For years, my mama heart struggled with how Abraham could build an altar, bind his son, and lay him across the wood. One day, I discovered the answer in Hebrews 11:19:

“Abraham reasoned that if Isaac died, God would be able to bring him back to life again. And in a sense, Abraham did receive his son back from the dead.”
Hebrews 11:19 NLT

Abraham’s story was an Old Testament foreshadowing of God allowing His Son to be sacrificed. But, it also serves as an example of what we may experience in our Christian life. There will be times in our journey with God when He asks us to let go of a dream, a way of life, or a pursuit because He has a different plan or path for us. Yet we can hold onto the hope and the promise that God never asks us to give up more than He is willing to give us.  

I recently wrote a book on spiritual practices, and I define sacrifice as a spiritual practice in which we give up for God’s holy good. Sometimes, He asks us to give up or lay down what we consider good, like a career, a particular house, a relationship, or a certain number of kids, because His plan is to give us something better.

Giving up for God’s holy good is a journey of believing the best about God’s love and care for us. The writer of Hebrews notes that Jesus offered Himself as a sacrifice for the joy of fulfilling His purpose in God’s eternal plan (Hebrews 12:2). Jesus gave up so much for God’s holy good, and we benefit from that goodness each day.

Perhaps you’ve sensed that God is nudging you to give up something for His holy good. You have permission to grieve in the giving up. I also encourage you to hold onto the reassurance that God will fill that space in His time with His goodness just for you.

It’s been almost two months since I laid down my dream. After a few weeks of sadness, I can see where that decision has been a blessing in this season. There are many unique opportunities in this season of life, and it’s helpful to have absolute flexibility as a single woman without the concern of neglecting a relationship. Yes, I still carry the ache of loneliness and uncertainty, but I enjoy the blessing of knowing that I’ve followed God and the promise of His goodness in whatever form it comes in my life.

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

What’s in Your Hand?

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Look! The cry of the people of Israel has reached me, and I have seen how harshly the Egyptians abuse them. Now go, for I am sending you to Pharaoh. You must lead my people Israel out of Egypt.”

But Moses protested to God, “Who am I to appear before Pharaoh? Who am I to lead the people of Israel out of Egypt?”

God answered, “I will be with you. And this is your sign that I am the one who has sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God at this very mountain.”

But Moses protested, “If I go to the people of Israel and tell them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ they will ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what should I tell them?”

God replied to Moses, “I am who I am. Say this to the people of Israel: I am has sent me to you.”
Exodus 3:9-14 NLT

Moses repeatedly responded to God’s call with a response that resembled, “Please don’t pick me. You’ve overestimated who I am.” Moses was aware of the abuse his people, the Israelites, had endured. He deeply feared Pharoah and didn’t want to have to be the one to face him, especially with so many lives hanging in the balance. His insecurity was drowning out his ability to hear what God was really saying — “Moses, I Am!” In other words, God was fully aware that Moses felt too small, too weak, and too incapable to be the man for this job; however, Moses’s life is a wonderful example of a powerful truth — God can use anyone to accomplish His will. His power is made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Did you know that Moses classified himself as being “slow of speech and tongue”? The very weakness that was a root of insecurity for him became the thing God wanted to use to redeem His people. God also told Moses that his brother Aaron, who was a good speaker, could accompany him and help him when he felt afraid. This story reminds us that God not only uses our weaknesses to glorify His name, but that He also provides practical help along the way.

Wherever God is calling you, and whatever He is asking of you, let this story bring you comfort. You are equipped for the role. He is aware of your struggles. And His power is made perfect in your weakness.

Get Renewed in Prayer

Hey Jesus,

Thank You for always listening to me when I pray. When I talk to You, I feel myself relaxing as I remember that You are already near. Will You help me remember this story of Moses as I respond to Your voice and discern what’s next? Remind me that my weaknesses don’t scare You, for that’s precisely what You want to use to further Your Kingdom. Thank You for not getting frustrated with me when I reiterate my worry or tell You why I’m afraid; You already know what’s on my heart and mind.

Thank You for providing people in my life who are strong where I am weak. Humble my spirit so that I can recognize and receive Your provision in these places. When there is someone around me who I can help encourage, strengthen, or support, show me.

Like Moses, sometimes my insecurities speak so loudly that I struggle to hear Your voice above them. Help me remember that You are the Great I Am. When I focus on You, I regain my footing and can respond in faith.

In Jesus’s name, Amen.

—

We often think our lives should look a certain way to others, and we have the same idea about God. We try to bring only our best and hide the rest, a process that can lead to exhaustion, burnout, and disillusionment. But God hasn’t asked for our best; He’s asked for our everything.

In her new interactive Devotional Guide, Unfiltered: Living Raw, Real, & Redeemed by Jesus, author Cleere Cherry Reaves encourages us to dispense with pretense and meet with the God who sees all, knows all, and loves us anyway, to the end of our days and forevermore. Through Scripture, reflective devotions, processing questions, quizzes, and more, Cleere helps you get to the heart of the matter — the unfiltered self that Christ desires to connect with.

Order your copy today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN a copy*!

Then join Becky Keife this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Cleere about this new devotional guide. Don’t miss it!

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 7/21/24 at 11:59 pm central.

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

How to Hover Over Your Chaos

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I saw the notification for a missed call from my brother. No voice mail, no follow-up text. My heart dropped. Something terrible must have happened.

Panicked, I called him back right away. He picked up laughing. 

“Sorry!” he said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I didn’t even mean to call!”

“But,” he added, “it happened at the most chaotic moment of my morning, so I figured you would’ve been the perfect person anyway.”

We laughed long and hard. I peeled my anxiety off the ceiling. He shared his morning chaos, well known to working parents: a sick kid, a closed daycare, a last-minute scramble for back-up. 

I told him I’d missed his call because I was doing a mad-dash clean-up of our messy house. Our beloved summer babysitter was on her way over, and even though she knew our chaos, the current state of affairs was too much, even for our nearest and dearest.

“See, I told you,” he laughed again. “You know chaos better than anyone!”

After we got off the phone, I kept thinking about his words, that I’d be the perfect person to call in chaos.

Truth is, he’s right in more ways than one. As a working mother of five kids, I live amid chaos 24/7. Sometimes it overwhelms me, but over the years I have built up muscles I didn’t know I had. Muscles that help me juggle seven people’s schedules, hunger, needs, and joys; keep a house sorta running for all of us to survive; and tend to my body, heart, and soul while caring for those I’m called to love.

But in a deeper way, I’ve become well-acquainted with other chaos I never wanted. 

Grief. Illness. Suffering. Death.

I keep praying for peace and tranquility in my life. But that doesn’t seem to be what God sends. God keeps asking me to build up my strength and capacity for chaos — to become someone who can sit with others in their hard places, and dig deep into solidarity and compassion.

One of my favorite Scripture passages (as someone who keeps finding herself in chaos) comes from the Bible’s first words: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters” (Genesis 1:1-2 NIV).

Another translation says “The earth was complete chaos, and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters” (Genesis 1:2 NRSVUE). First, there was darkness and chaos, unnerving and empty. But then God’s Spirit moved, and the Word was spoken: Let there be light.

I’ve long loved the image of the Spirit hovering over the waters, gentle as a bird or rushing as a breeze, as God creates for the first time out of chaos. 

Because more often than not, my own life feels chaotic. In small ways — what are we having for dinner, where is that kid’s permission slip, did anyone change the laundry, when was that bill due, is someone getting sick upstairs? — and in big ways. 

Why did I get cancer? 

Why couldn’t our children survive? 

How does the world keep falling apart, worse and worse every day?

Am I doing what I’m supposed to be doing amid all this mess?

Over the years, as I’ve spent much time in chaos, reflecting on chaos, I’ve come to realize how much the Genesis creation story teaches us about the conflicts and challenges we encounter in our own lives. 

First, chaos is only — and always — the start of the story. Morning sickness, messy first drafts, and even the Monday school rush have taught me that beginnings can be difficult. But we can’t lose heart when we encounter chaos. God might be drawing near in ways we can’t see, hovering close to our murky waters. Every masterpiece starts with a sketch, and even chaos can be the first step to something beautiful coming next.

Second, we can’t forget to breathe. The word for Spirit in Hebrew is ruah, which can be translated as wind, breath, or spirit. When I get tense, anxious, or fearful in the face of chaos, I often hold my breath and forget how much it helps to slow down and breathe deeply. As small as it sounds, breathing reminds me of the presence of God’s Holy Spirit within me, breathed into my lungs by God at the beginning of my life. When I reconnect with the Spirit that moved like a mighty wind at the dawn of creation, I remember that I have never been left alone to face the chaos on my own. 

Finally, in a strange way, chaos can remind us that God is near — a sign that the Spirit is ready to create and recreate among us.

God is already here. When chaos comes — and it will come — we don’t have to get entangled or entrapped within it; we just need to hover over it. Because the truth is, we can’t complete the creative, restorative, or redemptive work of God. All we can do is trust that the Spirit is present.

God is always hovering close, whenever and wherever we need. 

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

Great News for Every Hard Day

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I love you, Lord, my strength.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

I called to the Lord, who is worthy of praise,
    and I have been saved from my enemies.
The cords of death entangled me;
    the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.
The cords of the grave coiled around me;
    the snares of death confronted me.

In my distress I called to the Lord;
    I cried to my God for help.
From his temple he heard my voice;
my cry came before him, into his ears.
Psalm 18:1-6 NIV

What if you started every morning and ended every night with the simple declaration, “I love you, Lord, my strength”? 

When we center our thoughts on God — on His love, His presence, His strength in our lives — we will experience the peace we long for.

Calling out to God won’t always immediately change our circumstances, but we can rest assured that He hears our cries. God is our source of help, hope, and strength. Declare your love for Him today!

The Extraordinary Kindness of God and Flowers + Strawberry Salad Recipe

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And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers… he will certainly care for you.
Luke 12:28 NLT

That July day, a bouquet of flowers was my teacher. I needed to re-learn something I had re-forgotten: God uses ordinary things to show us His extraordinary kindness.

I don’t know what some people think about things like that. But I believe that God is so specific in His kindness to us that He orchestrates the tiniest details, letting us know He sees and cares about us. So often we miss His gifts of kindness because we are racing through life, missing the beauty right in front of us (or right beside us in the ditches of life).

What ditch do you find yourself in today? What place in your life seems bereft of color? How has God whispered His specific kindness to you through a certain shade of sky, a flower, a cardinal, a feather floating on the breeze? Maybe these things are God’s way of “bringing you something you need to learn.” Let’s take some time in these July days to slow down and look for the ways God uses the created world to remind us how very much we’re loved.

by Jennifer Dukes Lee, as featured in the (in)courage 2024-25 Agenda Planner

Summer is upon us, and we’re craving all things light, fresh, and cool! We’ve got just the recipe for you. Invite friends over for lunch and serve this delicious Strawberry Salad. With some bread on the side and any protein you like (it’s endlessly customizable), this is a real winner of a summer recipe.

Bonus: it’s super easy.

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

We hope an easy recipe like this one can help you follow Jennifer’s encouragement to “take some time in these July days to slow down and look for the ways God uses the created world to remind us how very much we’re loved.”

Strawberry Salad

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 20 minutes
Makes 8 servings

INGREDIENTS:

  • 4 cups baby spinach leaves
  • 4 cups chopped Romaine lettuce
  • 2 cups sliced strawberries
  • 1 cup sliced cucumber
  • 3/4 cup thinly sliced red onion
  • 1/2 cup sliced almonds, divided
  • 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese, divided
  • 1/2 cup your favorite Strawberry Balsamic Vinaigrette

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. In large bowl, add spinach, lettuce, sliced strawberries, sliced cucumber, sliced red onion, and all but 2 Tbsp. of the sliced almonds and feta cheese (save the 2 Tbsp. each of almonds and cheese for sprinkling on top of the salad).
  2. Toss all the ingredients together well.
  3. When ready to serve, drizzle salad with the Strawberry Vinaigrette and toss gently. Then sprinkle the top of the salad with the remaining feta cheese and sliced almonds. Serve immediately.

NOTE: If serving the salad a little later, stop after Step #2 and refrigerate the salad until ready to serve. Just before serving, toss in the dressing and sprinkle the top of the salad with the remaining feta cheese and sliced almonds.

To get the styled look Nancy created here, use the Good Thing Serving Bowl and use this Tea Towel Set as a table runner or placemat! Set out the Simply Elegant S&P Sprinklers + Tray set in case people want a little more seasoning in their salads. Find these lovely pieces and more at Mary & Martha by DaySpring.

And let us know the answer to Jennifer’s question above: How has God whispered His specific kindness to you?

What It Really Means to Be an Influencer

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Are intergenerational friendships something you value and seek out? I love having same-age-and-stage people in my life because these are the people who understand experientially what I’m going through in any given season. But more and more, I’ve found that being in relationship with people decades older and younger brings an important perspective and dimension that wouldn’t exist if all my friendships looked just like me.

Wisdom might change that old familiar refrain to, “Keep young friends, and have some old, one is silver and the other gold.” 

Recently in visits with 20-somethings, our conversations turned to social media. Never do I feel more like a dinosaur than when a young friend raves about who she follows on TikTok. An old-school blogger, I began writing online when Facebook was a toddler, Twitter was an infant, and before Instagram was a sparkle in its developer’s eyes. Back then, blogging simply scratched a long-dormant creative itch for many of us, and no one was doing it for money. Introductions were made through recommendations by your new-found blogging friends, not through sponsored posts that targeted your demographic. Or, maybe, you discovered your next favorite writer through a link-up where dozens, or even hundreds, of bloggers wrote along a common theme linked to a host site. Everyone connected through robust comment threads.

It was all so organic and lovely.

When I started blogging, hard copies of newspapers were still being delivered to your door. We got news, weather, and sports updates from nightly six or eleven o’clock broadcasts, and we trusted our news anchors. People were reporting what happened, not making up what didn’t.

Good gravy, my head gets spinny thinking about all the changes I’ve seen in the past 20 years. I can only imagine how dizzy my older friends must be with all the changes they’ve witnessed!

Not surprisingly, the impact of influencers comes up in social media conversations. M-W.com defines an influencer as a person who inspires or guides the actions of others; a person who is able to generate interest in something (such as a consumer product) by posting about it on social media. 

What didn’t exist not so long ago is now a multi-billion dollar industry. Top influencers are paid barrels of money to tell us what to do, think, and buy. They earn a lot of money because they deliver. According to an April 2024 article on Sprout Social, “49% of all consumers make daily, weekly, or monthly purchases because of influencer posts, with 30% trusting influencers more today than they did just six months ago.” That’s staggering, isn’t it?

There are plenty of finger-wagging bunny trails we could hop along, but I’m not here to cast aspersions at influencers. I’m thankful for the people who know more about the topics I’m interested in than I do. Some have taught me something new while others share recipes, fashion pointers, or beauty tips. My favorites challenge me to think differently, critically, and more carefully, especially while pointing me to Jesus. And I’m grateful for the people who bring a little levity into all our lives, lightening the sometimes heavy loads we carry. Kittens riding skateboards? Please and thank you!

The reality is you don’t have to have thousands of followers on your favorite social media platform to be an influencer; in fact, you don’t have to be on social media at all. If an influencer is simply a person who inspires or guides the actions of others, has it occurred to you, sweet sister, that you are an influencer? 

Given that you are an influencer in some shape or form, the next question to consider is: How are you stewarding this relational superpower?

Within our homes, workplaces, and houses of worship, we are inspiring and guiding the actions of others. In ordinary ways, we have the potential to uplift and encourage friends, train children, lead colleagues, and impact strangers. Passing along something we’ve learned, sharing a bargain, or helping someone who’s experiencing a heartache you have in common are ways we influence the people around us every day. 

Just as we influence others, we are constantly being influenced by whatever fills our world, our time, and our minds. Are we settling for earthly trinkets when eternal treasures could be ours? Can you imagine how different your life would be if Jesus was the dominant influencer in your life?

Maybe you can honestly say He is, but if not, what would need to change? What might need to shift for Jesus to become your greatest influencer? This isn’t a question about your salvation or a requirement to do something to earn God’s love. Rather, remembering our earlier definition, when Jesus is the primary influencer in our lives, our words and actions would be naturally focused on generating interest in Him.

God has made us for the magnificent purpose of bringing Him glory. You and I are unique masterpieces created in His image. Never do we look more like Jesus than when we are under the influence of the Holy Spirit. 

May we live each day to reflect, promote, and point others to His goodness.

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

How to Grow a Healthy Family Tree  

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There was a tree on our sheep farm in the South African outback that had a trunk that looked like it had tried to make a U-turn. Where it once grew straight it had taken a sharp right turn before continuing to grow up toward the sky.

The tree looked like that because one of my dad’s older brothers had crashed into it on a night he was drunk and lost control of his car at that bend in the road. And now there is a permanent bend in that tree.

Family trees are like that.

We grow up out of the soil of the stories that are so long ago and once upon a time that they might feel unconnected to our regular Tuesday afternoons. But, the branches in our family trees keep long records, ring upon ring, of where we come from and who we come from, and they map the ways in which we have changed directions.

We used to make fun of that tree. My father named it after his brother. We laughed when we passed it, a ridiculous landmark on our farm that made the brother ridiculous.

Years of laughter passed unchecked until a day when my father pushed pause on the story. Then rewind.

Then he recorded a new narrative. “That’s sad what we did, what I did — making fun of my brother like that. It’s ugly. I wish I’d never started calling that his tree.”

I listened in surprise. “That was so ugly, to make fun of a terrible moment in his life.”

And it was as if my father shed a skin, like the snakes he used to catch and raise and trade when he was a kid in boarding school. There it was: the old, dry, shriveled skin of petty meanness that didn’t fit him anymore.

The isiZulu word for “grace” is umusa. It is also a synonym for “humanity.” We are an interconnected species. Our family trees linked by root systems deep beneath the everyday surface of our lives.

When it comes to how we love or parent or forgive we are not starting from scratch. As much as I might have thought so in the early years of my marriage.

I am my father’s daughter. We worship the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob — the God of generations. And there is only one beating heart of humanity — a single organism connected by vital arteries of history and memory and one divine and holy breath breathed into all of us.

And my father’s willingness to shed the skins he’d grown up in is the most shocking plot twist of my life.

Because for years he had lived in a box in my mind labeled “fear.”

I had packed it up tight when I left home and boarded a plane from South Africa to college in the States. I’d shoved the box on a back shelf in a back closet in the recesses of my mind. A place I forgot existed over decades of life away from the country of my childhood.

But history can’t be locked away. It is a living, breathing reality that beats in our ribcages. And for years I defaulted to parenting in anger like my father and grandfather before me without once considering that I was driving the same, well-worn path of my childhood.

I lived deep inside the snakeskin I hadn’t learned to shed yet.

Until the terrible day my mini-me stared at me out of eyes sinking below the surface of my rage, and I had a choice: I could push him under the water or I could reach out my hand to rescue him.

And I knew that if I wanted to rescue him, I would have to find a way to rescue myself. To shed the skin I’d grown up in.

But I was incapable of rescuing myself. History and my own story had proven this over and over. Instead, I recognized that the same God who had rescued Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob would need to be the one to rescue me from being drowned by the history that lived in me so that I could rescue my son.

So I took all my faith and doubt, my family story and my desperation, to the God who once inspired the words of another sheep farmer, like my dad, who wrote,

I waited patiently for the Lord;
he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.
Psalm 40:1–2 NIV

Because, no matter how deep into the narrative we are, the grace of the Gospel is that on ordinary Tuesdays it’s still not too late to write a new ending.

No matter what kind of history you inherited, it doesn’t have to be repeated. By the grace of a Savior who “moved into the neighborhood” (John 1:14 MSG) to get to know you and your storyline up close and personal, new endings are still waiting to be written in your bloodline.

—

This is an adapted excerpt from Lisa-Jo Baker’s new book, It Wasn’t Roaring, It Was Weeping.

When she found herself spiraling into a terrifying version of her father, screaming herself hoarse at her son, Lisa-Jo realized that to go forward — to refuse to repeat the sins of our fathers — we must first go back.

It Wasn’t Roaring, It Was Weeping is an honest and lyrical coming-of-age memoir of growing up in South Africa at the height of apartheid, and an invitation to recognize and refuse to repeat the cycles we’ve grown up in — from the bestselling author of Never Unfriended.

With a story that stretches from South Africa’s outback to Washington, D.C., It Wasn’t Roaring, It Was Weeping is a courageous look at inherited hurts and prejudices, and a hope-filled example for all who feel lost in life or worried that they’re too off course to make the necessary corrections. Lisa-Jo’s story shows that it’s never too late to be free.

Order your copy today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN a copy*!

Then join Becky Keife on the (in)courage podcast this weekend for a conversation with Lisa-Jo about this special new book. Don’t miss it!

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 7/15/24 at 11:59 pm central.

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

What Do You Do When You’re Bored?

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Earlier this year, I decided to do something new and something that required courage: I went horseback riding in the mountains of Colorado. I am the direct opposite of a risk taker or adrenaline junkie. I cherish safety so for me going horseback riding was a big decision.

As I waited with my group to get my assigned horse, I prayed to get the old and tired horse who wanted a slow stroll. But God is funny at times and I met Copper, who according to the instructor “has beef with a lot of other horses.” Copper and I started at the back of the line as we exited the stable but Copper shoved the other horse and pushed past them all the way to the front, right behind the instructor. I just held on real tight and prayed the whole time that I wouldn’t fall off and die in Colorado.

The instructor would stop periodically to look behind and check on the group or to teach us different riding skills. As he talked, Copper wandered to a nearby patch to graze on the grass. The instructor noticed his behavior and told me to pull up on the reins and not allow him to snack. I obviously came to Copper’s defense, “I think he is hungry.” But the instructor quickly responded, “No, all these horses are well-fed. He is just grazing because he is bored and it is bad for him.”

Recently God reminded me of Copper and the Holy Spirit impressed on my heart that it is often the things that we do in our boredom that are actually bad for us, causing us to drift away from God without realizing it.

It is the long commute home from work when I am bored that I rehearse the hurt I have experienced from people and gossip about it with a friend on the phone.

It is when I binge-watch a television show that leads me to fantasize about a life I wish I had instead of being present and grateful for the one I am living now.

It is in the hours of scrolling on social media before bed, seeing all the brokenness and division in the world that makes me angry and sad as I end my day.

What we do in those quiet moments, when our hands are idle and our minds wander is what shapes who we are becoming.

What do you do when you are bored? It matters. We see this so clearly in the life of King David:

In the spring, at the time when kings go off to war, David sent Joab out with the king’s men and the whole Israelite army. They destroyed the Ammonites and besieged Rabbah. But David remained in Jerusalem.

One evening David got up from his bed and walked around on the roof of the palace. From the roof he saw a woman bathing. The woman was very beautiful.“
2 Samuel 11:1-2 NIV

Instead of doing what kings are supposed to do, go and fight to protect their people, David napped all day. David sent everyone else to work and he stayed home. Then when He was alone, he was bored. And what David does in this moment of boredom leads him to become an adulterer and a murderer.

David’s poor choices escalated quickly, but it started out so subtle that David, a man after God’s own heart, didn’t see the degree of damage that he had caused.

 David told the messenger, “Say this to Joab: ‘Don’t let this upset you; the sword devours one as well as another. Press the attack against the city and destroy it.’ Say this to encourage Joab.”
2 Samuel 11: 25

But the chapter closes with the truth:

But the thing David had done displeased the Lord.”
2 Samuel 11:27

David is essentially saying it’s not a big deal, but to God, this was a big deal.

It’s easy to discount the bad habits or the casual things we do when we are bored, like Copper grazing on grass. But friend, it is time to recognize that sometimes those are the very things that lead us away from becoming who God is calling us to be.

So let’s take inventory of our hearts and be intentional with every moment, even the boring moments of life. Let’s pay attention to what we are watching, listening to, thinking about, and reading when we are alone and bored.

Ask the Holy Spirit to give you wisdom in every choice you make — and a willingness to turn away from what’s most comfortable or pleasurable if it does not honor God and others.

The little moments matter. May God take the reins of our lives today and lead us in habits that work for our good and His glory.

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

What if His Power Works Best in Your Weakness?

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The pain shot through my leg before I realized what happened. 

I run conferences for high school students across Canada, and I was in the thick of one, jumping and worshiping alongside hundreds of students during our Saturday morning session. I jumped with the highschoolers, but landed badly on my foot, my ankle twisting. Pain surged through me. (Is this what happens when you’re about to turn thirty? The mosh pit just doesn’t feel the same…) 

I was running point for the conference for the rest of the day. It was our team’s first time launching in Alberta, and we had been praying for this weekend for months. We had put our blood, sweat, and tears into it. I had fallen on my face before God more times than I could count. I was expectant and ready for God to move across Generation Z. God’s Spirit had already been stirring at the conference the night before, but I was anticipating Him to move in even greater ways over the course of the sessions on Saturday. Our team had a job to do, and I tend to take my job very seriously.

But by lunchtime, I could hardly walk. I begrudgingly let the conference nurse take a look at me. She predicted a torn calf muscle and advised me to go to urgent care. 

“I can’t go to urgent care!” I told her. “We have a conference to run.”

“Then you need to stop walking,” she said to me. (There was a good chance I glared at her. Model leadership, I know.) 

That afternoon, during a lull in the conference programming, I laid down on a couch in the church basement. Disappointment weighed heavy inside of my chest. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. I had a conference to run. There were things to do. I wanted to witness with my own eyes how God was transforming the hearts of hundreds of high school students. We had been praying for this for months and suddenly it felt like I was being benched on the sidelines. 

I groaned to Jesus, This isn’t fair. Heal me! Quick! 

Friends trickled down the basement stairs to pray for me. One after another, people laid their hands on my calf and ankle, asking God to heal me. I had full faith that I would be healed. But I wasn’t healed that afternoon. Instead, the pain increased, and by the final session that Saturday night, I could barely stand. 

But I wasn’t ready to quit. I don’t know if it was pride or faith, but I hobbled into that final session, ready to worship. I decided I would rather limp into the Kingdom of God and witness others coming alongside me than quit and go home. I wanted to see God move among Gen Z. I wasn’t heading home yet. 

I watched the students worship. I raised my arms and postured my heart toward Jesus. Then I felt God whisper to me, kindly but honestly: I didn’t need you in order to move. 

Humility draped over me like a blanket, and tears filled my eyes. God didn’t need me. God didn’t need me in order to move the way He wanted to. I could sit back – weak and in pain and feeling useless – and God would do every single thing He had already intended to do. 

It was a powerful moment for me. I watched God’s Spirit move in power among hundreds of youth. That night, I witnessed high school students meeting Jesus for the first time. I saw students get healed and receive freedom. The week after the conference, our team was sent story after story from those high school students, sharing how God changed their lives that weekend. 

I wanted to be strong, fixed, and healed. I mistakenly thought I was a necessary component for God to move. But God wanted to move despite my limping and weakness. 

Jesus said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.”

Maybe it’s easy for me to say. I was rehabilitated after a month and a half of physiotherapy, and my torn calf muscle is healing now. I have never dealt with chronic pain or illness. I can’t begin to understand the pain so many people carry in their bodies and hearts each day.

But I know this: God isn’t limited by your weakness and pain. In fact, He promises that His power works best in your limping and weakness. Your strength is not necessary for God to move. I wonder if sometimes our strength can get in the way of His Spirit. We think we are needed. But God is the One people need to encounter, not us. 

If you are weak today… 

If you feel benched on the sidelines… 

If you are limping and tired and feeling done… 

Come to Jesus. Come exactly as you are. Come encounter His presence, His goodness, and His absolute grace.

It turns out His power actually works best in your weakness. 

Listen to today’s devotion below or search for the (in)courage podcast anywhere!