For the Love of Learning

For the Love of Learning

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I didn’t expect how hard it would be. Sure, thirty years had passed since I last sat in a college class. And, of course, I knew graduate school wasn’t a walk in the park. I expected it to be a challenge; I looked forward to it even. And I’d been waiting decades for the opportunity to be just right.

But then the first day of seminary arrived. And with it, overwhelm and panic.

For the love, you’re 52 years old. What in the world are you doing?! 

The weight of doing something new, difficult, and full of unknowns fell on me like a ton of bricks. My longtime dream turned into a hard reality fast.

What were you thinking? All this time and money, and it’s probably going to be a total waste. 

It took all my will to go to class that day and not tuck tail and run the other way. I still didn’t feel confident. I felt old, washed up, in over my head. But I faked it as best I could and showed up anyway, mostly because my fear of quitting outweighed my fear of failing (barely). Before I knew it, I’d survived my first three-hour class. Then a second. I still questioned my decision now and again. But, sooner than I expected, I fell into a groove and woke up one day experiencing an entirely new feeling:

Anticipation. And joyful delight.

It’s now been three months, and I’m nearly finished with the first semester of my Master’s Degree. Grad school isn’t easy, I was right about that. And I still have days when I struggle to juggle my limitations and responsibilities, including health challenges, a career, family, and my teenagers’ homework as well as my own. But almost daily I whisper a prayer of thanks that fear and self-doubt didn’t rob me of a new experience.  

Why? Because in pushing against the discomfort and allowing myself to be stretched, I am learning. And I am growing. Just as a flower bulb must push through the discomfort of the hard earth to burst forth in colorful glory, I know today’s hard work will eventually result in tomorrow’s blooming — my blooming. And although the process isn’t comfortable, the result will make it more than worth it.

This causes me to pause and consider: How often do you and I choose today’s comfort at the cost of tomorrow’s growth? How often do we miss out on the color of new insights, new relationships, and new spiritual growth simply because we prefer the dormancy of the status quo?

It is so easy for us to slip into complacency. And yet, comfort isn’t always the haven we think it is. Sometimes it is a tomb.

A bulb that stays entombed too long in the ground eventually withers. So do we. When we start avoiding difficult circumstances, new adventures, challenging circumstances, and difficult people and conversations, we end up stunting the growth God desires for us. As a result, we miss out on our spring.

“Show me your ways, Lord,
teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long.

He guides the humble in what is right
and teaches them his way.”
Psalm 25:4-5, 9 NIV

I wonder: What is the price of our addiction to personal comfort? What beautiful blooms are we missing because fear is keeping our world small? And how is our growth (emotionally, physically, spiritually) being stunted by our resistance to anything that feels uncomfortable?

Consider this: Where could your life use a little more blooming? What discomfort do you need to push against to discover the color of a fresh spring?

Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to go to graduate school. This isn’t about degrees, job promotions, or even taking a once-in-a-lifetime trip. This is about you and I embracing the posture of a student and learning that discomfort, even while we don’t always like it, is often an excellent teacher.

Let’s you and I choose to have the heart of a student no matter our classroom. All it requires? Humility. And a desire for wisdom.

Today, let’s lean into learning. Rather than walk the long way around today’s discomfort, let’s choose to stay present to it. To welcome the stretching and growing and refining as part of the miracle learning.

Before you know it, you’ll be blooming.

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Help When Social Media Makes You Compare

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I’m scrolling through social media and I find myself repeating one phrase, “Look what she did!”

I say this as I see women doing good things — leading, creating, connecting, accomplishing, achieving dreams. It doesn’t take long until another phrase follows, “I should be doing that too!”

I slip into comparison like a too-tight pair of jeans that squeezes in all the wrong places. I feel the pinch of inadequacy, the tug of guilt, the familiar sensation that I am not enough. I don’t feel good in this state of mind. It doesn’t fit me. It doesn’t bring out the best in who God created me to be. But I keep comparison in my mental closet, reluctant to let it go for reasons I can’t explain. Have you ever done the same?

This time, I pause and pray, “God, help me have a different perspective.” In the silence, it seems a gentle, compassionate question comes to my anxious heart. Why are you looking at those posts and saying, “Look at what she did!” instead of “Look at what God is doing!”

Wow, I had never thought of it that way before.

I think of my own story, and how I am where I am today because God brought me here. HE opened doors I never could. HE gave me gifts I could use to serve others. HE called me and equipped me every step of the way. I’ve been asked many times, “How did you get to where you are right now?” I always respond, “I didn’t do this — God brought me here.” Why has it never occurred to me to think of the stories of other women in the same way?

We live in a culture that tells us more is better. The size of something is a measure of its success. Influence equals significance. But when I look at the Kingdom of God, I don’t see the same thing. Instead, I see a God who values love and faithfulness, and who invites us each into an intimate adventure with Him for a lifetime.

I recently reread the parable of the master who goes on a journey and entrusts resources to his servants while he is away. Most of us are familiar with what the master says to the servant given five talents who earns five more. “Well done, good and faithful servant! You were faithful over a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Share your master’s joy.” (Matthew 25:21 CSB). But these words actually appear twice in the same chapter. When the servant with two talents earns two more, the master says that exact same thing to him.

The master doesn’t say, “Good job, but you didn’t do quite as well as this other servant.”

He doesn’t complain, “If you had just tried a little harder, maybe you could have done more.”

He doesn’t declare, “You should have accomplished as much as someone else.”

No, the master says again, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You were faithful over a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Share your master’s joy.” (Matthew 25:23 CSB).

Why? Because we serve a God who cares more about the quality of our faithfulness with what He’s given us than the quantity of our accomplishments. He isn’t asking us to do as much as we possibly can; He is asking us to say “yes” to what He asks us to do with what He’s entrusted to us. He isn’t looking for more people to have big platforms; He is searching for humble hearts willing to do little things with great love. God is not comparing us to anyone else, He is always and only inviting us to become more like Jesus.

It is a myth, lie, and joy stealer to say, “If I could just do better in some way, then I could be where she is today.”

The truth is, that God has a plan, purpose, and story for each of us that is entirely different. We can trust, even when it’s mysterious, that we don’t need to do better because we already have His best for us.

We no longer have to say, “Look what she did!”

Instead, we can say, “Look what God is doing — in her life and mine!”

Sometimes comparison and anxiety come from unresolved hurt in our lives, especially in our relationships. If that sounds like you, then Holley’s newest course, Heal After You’re Hurt, is here to help! Use code “incourage” to get 25% off for a limited time! Learn more here.

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For When You’re Exhausted and Coffee Can’t Take the Tired Away

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I came to coffee by way of tea.

My mother is a tea drinker, always stirring in her honey and lemon. Then there’s the part of my story where I worked in a tea store, and learned to tell customers about the various health benefits of tea — how black tea is good for heart health and how white tea is rich in antioxidants.

I learned about pu’er tea, which is good for digestion . . . and how yerba-maté is a worthy substitute for coffee. I learned that green tea should be steeped at 140°F – 185°F for three minutes, while herbal teas, like chamomile, peppermint, or African rooibos, should be steeped at 212°F for four minutes.

I love tea and forever will love tea. I’ll take it any way I can get it – loose tea, in sachets and bags. I’ll take it steeped and served in ceramic mugs, porcelain tea cups, even disposable cups.

Still, there is a part of me that’s come to really appreciate a good cup of coffee. The fascination started when I was a young adult visiting Großhansdorf, Germany. Upon waking each morning, I welcomed the day with a spread of boiled eggs, fruit, and freshly baked bread, served alongside ghee and honey and jam. This is when and where I began drinking bold black coffee.

It started slowly, beginning with breakfast . . . and then led toward taking a cup of coffee at lunch and even at dinner. After my time in Germany, I drank coffee any way and any time I could have it. Iced caramel lattes first thing in the morning. Black cups of coffee just before bedtime.

Turns out, my coffee drinking came just in time to serve me well as a college student who wore tiredness like a trophy. I’d pull all-nighters to finish my assignments and then count on coffee to carry me through my exhaustion. But, I noticed a pattern beginning to take form — instead of drinking coffee because it delighted me, I started drinking coffee simply because it excited my body.

Flash forward to this current season. I’ve found myself, once again, counting on coffee to carry me through my days. I’m in the thick of motherhood (raising two boys, ages 6 and 3), working a combination of jobs that keep me clocked in full-time, all the while managing a chronic illness that conveniently has “fatigue” listed as the number one symptom.

If I’m honest, the truth is it’s not just caffeine and coffee that I find myself turning to — it’s also the suggestive ads that tell me to try this product and that. It’s the bath salts and the ionized water. The smoothies from Whole Foods. The books and self-care creams — every little thing that promises to make me better, stronger, and healthier calls to me.

Less tired. More energized.
Less exhausted. More rested.
Less depleted. More revitalized.

I know that I am not the only one who is strained and stressed, tired, and always running out of time. I know I’m not the only one who is bone-tired — waking with bags under the eyes, swigging endless cups of coffee while daily doing the deep work of bearing the burdens that come with being and breathing in this broken world.

We are worn out. We are tapped. We are tired of and from watching the news and waiting for God to usher in salvation and solutions. We are holding our collective breath, barely awake and hardly aware of our need for rest — true rest.

In the quiet moments, when I sit in silence long enough to let the truth be loud, I can hear the holy whisper. And maybe you do, too?

I need Christ more than I need coffee.

In the morning when we rise, and in the evening when we lay our heavy bodies, burdened and all. When we’re tested, tired, and tried. When work piles up. When bills pile up. When dishes pile up. When piles pile up.

Always, we need Christ more than coffee — more than the next anti-aging cream or ergonomic pillow that promises to take away the tired.

On this side of heaven, there will always be toys to pick up and toil and tasks. Like tried travelers — in search of somewhere to put up our sandals — we will go about our days waiting, until kingdom come, for true rest to come.

Until then, may God’s eternal truth echo throughout our bodies, however bone-tired they may be.

It is Christ who takes the tired away — wipes our tears and bares our heavy burdens. He is our rest, every moment with Him a reprieve for our weary souls.

For, in His presence is peace and quiet, calm and hush; in His Word is hope and purpose and inspiration and strength.

In Him, we have everything we need to make it through the endless loop of our demanding days.

In Him, may we rest . . . and live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28).

Amen.

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You’ll find our daily devotions Mon-Fri and bonus interviews on the weekend!

Gifts and Talents Need to Be Tended Over Time

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Every week my mom serpentined through Chicago traffic during rush hour to get me to piano lessons on time. I could not be late. Dr. Whang was strict, but with good intentions. She desired for her students to be the best they could be. With her subtle but firm tone, she taught us that precision and practice were paramount for progressing pianists. 

In the early years of piano, I was required to practice 30 minutes a day. I stumbled through scales and struggled to follow the metronome that helped me keep time. Competence was born out of repetition. But through the years, I began to look forward to this daily date with the ebony and ivory keys. My practice sessions extended longer as the pieces grew harder. The music moved through my fingers and settled my soul. 

My mama was from a blue-collar family that couldn’t afford piano lessons when she longed for them as a child. She often listened from the kitchen while I practiced. She was chopping onions and swirling ruby red sauce in the pot, while my fingers danced over the keys.

Mama told me over and over — sometimes with tears brimming in her eyes — how much my practicing and performing blessed her. She believed I had God-given musical talent and wanted me to have every opportunity to pursue it. 

Dr. Whang believed in me too. She challenged me with concertos and inspired me with symphonies. She even supported me beyond my lessons. One time she took the train from downtown to come see me sing as Liesl in “The Sound of Music” at my high school. 

I ended up taking piano for nine years — performing in recitals, winning local contests, and playing special numbers at church. I discovered that God grants us gifts and talents that need to be tended over time. We don’t just wake up one day as a concert pianist. Playing a musical instrument requires practice, patience, and plenty of perseverance. 

The apostle Paul gives us perspective about perseverance in his letter to the church in Collossae: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving” (‭‭Colossians‬ ‭3‬:‭23‬-‭24 NIV‬).

Paul was helping to reframe our efforts. Everything we practice or work at presents an opportunity to serve God wholeheartedly. We can look beyond the expectations of earthly masters and measures of success. 

Maybe you’ve never played an instrument, but you have practiced a sport or rehearsed for a play or concocted a new recipe. Maybe you feel frustrated or forlorn because that book you wrote was rejected or you weren’t chosen for the part. He gives us gifts and talents to grow. We don’t start with a perfect product or a pristine performance. Gifts and talents take time to bloom.

My new kids book, Kailani’s Gift, echoes this same message. Kailani needs to have the courage to try something new. Even though she doesn’t master it right away, Kailani perseveres. The tinikling dance is challenging, but it is also rewarding when she can offer it as a gift to her grandparents. We all might be clumsy with new things at first, but if we push through the awkwardness and have fun, we can bless others with what we have learned.

I wrote the first draft of Kailani’s Gift more than a decade ago. The manuscript was rejected and praised throughout the years. I consider it a sweet gift that my girl will finally grace bookshelves. Despite years of discouraging setbacks, the time is now.

The good news about gifts and talents is God takes the same posture as my mama did about my piano playing. He is proud of us whether we are stumbling through practice or performing on a stage. He does not require perfection. God cares more about the orientation of our hearts. 

We are called to use our talents and passions to bless those in our community for His glory.

Peter illuminates this: “Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms” (1 Peter 4:10 NIV). In this way, we offer our gifts back to the Giver. 

Now my 15-year-old daughter plays keys for the school worship band. She helps lead music with her team in chapel service every couple of weeks. My heart swells as I listen to her practice late at night and play with the student band. She writes lyrics and composes songs that carry us through our grief. Her creative gift of music blesses my mama heart in much the same way I had the opportunity to bless my mama years ago. 

—

Dorina Gilmore-Young is the award-winning author of a new picture book, Kailani’s Gift, which is a celebration of family, Filipino heritage, and dance that showcases the value of patience, perseverance, and blessing others with your gifts and talents. As Kailani watches her siblings practice a traditional Filipino dance for their grandparent’s anniversary party, she longs to join them. But keeping up with the rhythm and hopping in time with the beats of the tinikling is much harder than Kailani imagined! With Daddy’s help, Kailani practices the motions of the dance step by step. But will she be able to learn the tinikling in time to surprise her Lolo and Lola? Illustrator Lynnor Bontigao’s work pairs exquisitely with Dorina’s storytelling to celebrate Filipino culture and traditions.

Get 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 Dorina about cultivating our God-given talents and the beauty of learning about other cultures. Don’t miss it!

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

 

*Giveaway open until 4/21/24 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only.

The Years Give as Much as They Take

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Last month, I celebrated a birthday. I always anticipate my birthday far enough in advance that when it arrives, it doesn’t feel like such a big deal. Turning thirty wrecked me, but forty and fifty, not so much. I’m discovering age is not what it seems from a distance and what you see in the mirror may not reflect what you feel inside (cue George Strait singing “Troubadour”).

Because the births of our eight children spread across nineteen years, we still have children at home, whereas my mother had been an empty nester for at least fifteen years at my age. This is a sobering age… my mother passed away when she was three months younger than I am now.

I’m keenly aware that time is a gift I shouldn’t squander.

And I have to keep reminding myself of that… when my children want to use my age against me, as if it’s something I could control or deny. When my hormones go haywire and the number on the scale hurtles head first in the wrong direction. Or when I just want to scream, “This isn’t what I signed up for!”

Though my body is changing, in my mind I’m the same person as I’ve always been, just viewing the world through hopefully wiser eyes.

Last year our youngest daughter graduated from our homeschool, which in essence was a graduation for me too. After thirty years as a homeschooling mom, I’ve shed the guilt about pursuing my own interests. For years, I spent spring Saturdays (and many weeknights) watching my children’s track meets or ball games—and loved it! But at this moment, instead of sitting on cold bleachers or racing back and forth between shot put, discus, and the track, trying not to miss any of my children’s events, I’m in my PJs writing at 8:30 in the morning on the first Saturday of spring. It’s pretty glorious.

My time is mostly my own, and I’m using it in ways that wouldn’t have been possible or practical before.

Our children are older and independent and therefore don’t require as much oversight or chauffeuring, so my husband and I have more free time to reconnect in this sweet season of life. For years, we used part of our Sunday evening date nights to plan how we’d tackle that week’s activities. Now we spend more time at the movies, binge-watching Netflix, or just sitting in the same room reading. Every night is a potential date night.

In addition to more freedom with my time in this second half of life, I realize that with time comes experience. I can speak to women about things I’ve studied (like essential oils from a biblical perspective) and things I’ve experienced (like marriage and friendships that have endured for decades). After teaching my children and students in our Classical Conversations program subjects I love, like literature and art history, I can lead tutor training to equip others to do the same. I can empathize with a woman who’s miscarried a child, relate to the mom of a troubled teen, and reassure the woman whose child says she hates her that someday their relationship can not only heal but flourish.

For the first time, I’m writing fiction. I thought it would be fun to invent imaginary people and places after writing two research-heavy nonfiction books (and it is!). Yet it’s my own, personal experience and life lessons that have helped me develop the characters in my book. Years of writing for you lovely (in)courage readers have trained me to take a story and dig down to its deeper meaning. Those are my favorite passages to read in fiction (the ones I highlight or underline on my Kindle) and they’re satisfying to write too.

The passage of time creates opportunities to share what we know, equip others, and explore new things, even as it takes away our ability, need, or desire for other things. (My body won’t let me play softball like I did in high school (oh, how I miss it), but I can enjoy sharing tips with my daughter’s boyfriend who is playing for the first time in a league with fellow firefighters.)

The Lord wants us to learn from our experiences so we can teach and comfort others the way He has taught and consoled us over the years.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer.”
2 Corinthians 1:3-6 ESV

The next time you’re overwhelmed by your current circumstances, spend time with a woman who’s been there and can give you her long-range perspective.

And the next time you worry you’re getting older and are no longer able (or no longer have) to do the things you used to, appreciate the depth of your knowledge and experience and look for ways to share the things you’ve learned — and God’s grace and mercy — with others.

 

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Hope For When Life Doesn’t Add Up

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You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good.
He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people.
Genesis 50:20 NLT

As I dumped the puzzle pieces on the table, I challenged our pre-teen daughter to sort and assemble the 100-piece puzzle without the box top picture.

With purpose stirred, she started, then stopped. Started, then stopped. What should have been an easy task, resulted in mounted frustration due to her lack of clarity.

“Mom, I can’t begin to put this puzzle together. It’s way too hard, and I need some kind of a guide.”

I let those words stew a bit before I responded.

“It’s hard to attempt something so confusing without guidance, isn’t it?” I questioned. “Putting together a puzzle without the picture is like us trying to fix life’s problems without considering God’s blueprint for our life. Our relationships, our friendships, and our families are all pieces of God’s master puzzle, but it’s critical we use the Bible as our box top to best navigate those difficult times. Often His picture takes time to unfold. We want to give up. The waiting is a challenge. So when it feels too hard, we need to just work on a few ‘pieces’ at a time. ”

While this simple, teachable moment was meant for our daughter, conviction hit home.

Life gets messy and the waiting hurts.

Often I rush ahead without seeking God first because I’m quick to attempt fixes on my own. I get frustrated when I don’t know how His plan will unfold, yet I don’t take the time to seek out His master box top.

My mind raced to Joseph and his brothers: the utter betrayal at the hands of those he loved most. How Joseph must have questioned God’s purpose during his waiting time in slavery and wondered how these seemingly horrible pieces could ever fit together for good.

Instead of harboring bitterness, Joseph believed in the sovereignty of God’s plan, even though he didn’t know the final outcome.

Often, God’s plan doesn’t come together on our timetable. We can’t pull back the veil and see the full extent of God’s work in our lives because His beautiful picture has not been revealed.

Yet one truth we cling to: God’s purpose and plan for us is good because God is good. All the time, God is good.

Are there puzzle pieces in your life that don’t seem to fit God’s perfect plan?

Work one piece at a time, cling to His goodness, and rest in His sovereignty.

Today’s devotion is by Jen Schmidt and originally appeared here on (in)courage.

 

With Only His Voice, Jesus Whispers Peace Over the Storm

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The Mediterranean Sea and the horizon blend in a blurry line, as if God took his finger and smudged the paint across the width of the paper. The moon is still visible from the beach this morning, full and round. The air is cool and the water is calm.

The night before, I dreamed I was lost at sea. The sky and water were both black, and the rumblings of an ominous storm brewed above. Drenched, cold, and left alone, I waited and waited, my feet frantically treading in the deep, dark water. I wondered how I had gotten there and if I’d ever be rescued.

The moon is slowly fading into the sky now as the sun rises. In a little while, my daughter will come running down the wooden boardwalk, wearing her favorite Minnie Mouse swimsuit and a white sun hat. My husband will be walking behind her while pushing a stroller overflowing with beach towels and floaties. He’ll challenge her to a race to the water’s edge, and they’ll both shout and sprint across the sand.

I’m drawn to the ocean’s power, mystery, and beauty but also frightened by those same reasons.

In my early twenties, I had no idea of the journey God would have in store for me in the years to come. I was beckoned into unfamiliar waves — across an actual ocean — and into a foreign country, holding nothing but a one-way ticket. This cross-cultural move was supposed to be an adventurous placeholder while I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life. But then I met a cute and funny boy, and we got married and started a family here. Days stretched into months and now years as my family waits for the necessary visas and paperwork to be processed and approved so the three of us can move to my home country.

Braided with homesickness and all the moments I’ve missed out on is the uncertainty of my family’s future. The longing for a life beyond here floats just out of reach like tiny boats on the horizon. Unanswered prayers for hope, healing, and things to be made right slosh and crash around me in the small hours of the night.

A few hundred miles south of where we play by the shore, there once was a group of experienced fishermen who set sail with Jesus on the Sea of Galilee. A violent storm suddenly arose, threatening to capsize their boat. The disciples panicked as the once-calm waters became turbulent and the waves crashed around them.

During the raging storm, Jesus remained asleep, seemingly undisturbed by what was happening. The disciples, desperate and terrified, woke Him up and pled for help. “Teacher,” they cried, “do you not care if we drown?” (Mark 4:38 NIV). 

Coming up from the stern, Jesus calmly rebuked the wind and water, commanding them to be still. At the sound of His voice, the storm immediately dissolved, the waves receded, and the wind quieted.

When treading deep waters in the middle of a storm, things can quickly turn to look dark and uncertain. The churning waves of grief, illness, betrayal, or brokenness can threaten to pull us under. My prayer in this long, turbulent season of feeling lost at sea sounds a lot like the disciples: Hey, Jesus, I’m drowning out here. Do you not care?

I watch my husband float in the water while my daughter and I fill plastic buckets with wet sand on the beach. The waves lap lazily against our outstretched legs, and the sun beams on our shoulders. I savor the gentleness of a morning that has yet to hold the stress and uncertainty of life and all that’s in it.

I know the deep waters of unfulfilled dreams don’t feel like a fun day at the beach. The swirling waves of broken relationships don’t feel like a morning of building sand castles. The raging storms of unanswered prayers don’t feel like a leisurely swim in the salty sea.

Jesus, do you not care?

I wish I had been given a tidier story, one with calm waters and warm breezes. But my family continues to endure the choppy waters of uncertainty, rowing toward a foggy and unknown future. The storm is still raging, and the boat keeps swaying. 

Jesus knew the storm was coming before he and the disciples got on the boat that day. He knew how they would react to the sudden storm. And yet, He went with them. 

Likewise, the Son of God knows what rogue waves life will throw our way. He knows how our faith will feel like a trembling flicker in the middle of a hurricane. But Jesus, who climbs into the boat and sits down next to us, is sovereign and in control. With only His voice, Jesus whispers peace over the storm.

I pray for my faith to be like a lighthouse, firmly rooted in solid ground and illuminating the path ahead. I will keep going through the storm, knowing I’m not alone . . . because I’m anchored by the One who cares.

 

If at First You Don’t Succeed, When Should You Try, Try Again?

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Maybe the fourth time would be a charm. I sure hoped so. Even though I was determined, I wasn’t sure I could take another disappointment. Was this the God-given “desire of my heart” spoken of in Psalm 37, or simply me pursuing something I wanted in my own strength?

I had been feeling a tug to return to a traditional nine-to-five job for a while. Now that my children were grown, my world had become too quiet. I craved more structure, interaction, and variety than weekly Bible study, volunteering, and church could provide. I also felt called to move beyond my comfortable Christian bubble.

It all felt so very “Prayer of Jabez.” Are you familiar? Years ago, Bruce Wilkenson popularized the Old Testament prayer found in 1 Chronicles 4:10 (NKJV) in his little book The Prayer of Jabez: Breaking Through to the Blessed Life:

“Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain!”

The verse ends by revealing how God answered Jabez’s audacious prayer: “So God granted him what he requested.”

Would God grant me what I requested? While all of the prayer’s petitions were relevant, the idea of “enlarging my territory” stood out. I longed to live out the gospel by serving others in meaningful ways.

I wanted to go back to work.

Friends and family thought I was crazy to give up the freedom and flexibility I enjoyed as a writer. Most of them had retirement on their minds, not launching a new career. Even my husband didn’t fully understand, thinking my desire was more about filling time and getting out of the house than God calling me to something different.

I listened to them and questioned myself. Would anyone see the value of a 50-something woman who hadn’t worked in a traditional job in decades? How do you communicate everything you do as a writer – content creation, speaking, marketing, networking – on a simple resume? Would my previous part-time marketing roles showcase my true drive and entrepreneurial spirit enough? Would my leadership qualities required in women’s ministry and volunteerism count for anything in today’s market?

Because I knew the application process was a breeding ground for self-doubt, I started reminding myself of my identity in Christ. I’ve learned that when life gets hard, it’s important to remember who you are because of who Jesus is and what He has done and will do.

As daughters of God, we are

We should never forget God is always and only for us, but there’s an enemy who’s always and only against us. (Romans 8:31)

Shored up spiritually, I updated my resume and started slinging spaghetti at the wall. Since the last full-time job I held – and absolutely loved – was at a retirement community, that was my target. Never mind it was 28 years ago.

To my surprise, the first application was a swing and a hit. The hiring manager and I had a great connection, and I got an offer. The money was great. But the work/life balance was awful. I cried before turning it down.

On my second attempt, I dropped off my resume in person, thinking it would demonstrate initiative and impress the marketing director. I thought wrong. Following an awkward conversation, I received an email rejection three days later.

I cried again.

The third job at a fancy new community got me really excited. A phone interview led to several in-person interviews. I was certain the job was mine…until days with no offer turned into weeks. When I finally got the call, they had chosen the other remaining candidate.

I cried yet again.

My children were in the loop, and I think they hurt more than me when things didn’t work out. I had always taught them, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again,” and here was a chance for me to demonstrate that very lesson.

I believed God had given me this desire, so I had to keep trying. If we can trust God with open doors, we can trust the ones that close.

Months later, the place I had applied to in person and received a swift rejection, re-posted the same position. Among all the communities I had considered, it was my first choice. I applied again. This time, I was invited to interview.

Driving onto their campus, feeling more vulnerable than ever, I prayed. If this strong and specific desire wasn’t of the Lord, I begged Him to take it away.

The short of an already-long (but amazing) God-story is this: I got the job!

Over the past three years, I’ve encountered the most wonderful people and helped dozens of seniors understand their options and make hard but important decisions that serve them well.

Like Jabez, God blessed me and granted what I requested (I’m convinced He gave me the desire in the first place).

When have you experienced a strong desire despite opposition or failure? What might God want you to know about who you are in Him? (Go back and read my short list of how God sees you as His daughter — or open your Bible and find His love for you all over Scripture.)

Talk to God about your desires. And perhaps it’s time to try, try again.

 

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

 

You Are Made for This

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I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.
Psalm 139:14 ESV

Let’s pray together: Lord, thank You so much for my children. They were fearfully and wonderfully made. Thank You for creating them to be unique, just as You planned. Thank You for giving me the wonderful honor to be their mother. Help me to raise them to live out their God-given purpose and follow You as their Lord and Savior. Amen.

It wasn’t until my middle daughter started to talk that I saw how unique and different she was from my son. My first son is shyer and reserved, a thinker, whereas my daughter is the life of the party and very social. We’ve yet to see how our third will turn out — he may be a fun mix of both. As each of my children grows, I see so many great ways God made them and how unique they are, how different from each other.

Mama, we must celebrate and cultivate each of our children’s unique gifts — and why God made them to be who they are! Let’s not push them into things they aren’t meant to do, but instead, let’s grow their character in the name of the Lord.

What’s even more wonderful is seeing characteristics in your children that came from you or their dad, or maybe even a grandparent or two too! As we appreciate our children, let’s not compare them to each other by considering one better than another, but instead realize how wonderful it is that they were created by the One Most High. As you navigate your child’s unique qualities, stay in prayer for them. The prayer at the beginning of this devotion can be used as often as you’d like, and feel free to add to it too!

Mama, sit back and think of each of your children . . . what makes them, them? As they grow, do you see how they’ve changed or stayed the same? Can you pick out the unique talents or gifts God gave them or that have been worked on through school, sports, or work? Their uniqueness should be celebrated as we let them be who God created them to be. Maybe, Mama, you’re already seeing that play out in the jobs they have today or the things in which they’re interested. Let them follow their own path as it leads to the greater purpose in life God has for them!

—

You Are Made for This, by Melissa Horvath, is a devotional to encourage moms to reaffirm both their role and identity in Christ.

Everyone needs a mother, but mothers don’t always feel needed, wanted, or confident in their role. Raising children is filled with ups, downs, and obligations, and while moms are centrally important to their family’s well-being, they can often neglect their own, which can lead to insecurity and self-doubt. This devotional is designed to empower and encourage busy mothers, reminding them of their value, God’s provision, and the divine purpose that is already being fulfilled in their lives, even when it feels like they’re living in chaos or stuck in the daily grind.

This devotional is a heartfelt companion for every mother, a source of inspiration and encouragement on the busiest of days and the most challenging of nights. It’s a powerful reminder that God’s purpose for your children – and for you – is so much bigger than any momentary struggle. And it’s an assurance that perfection is never the expectation, that there’s no room for mom guilt, and that God will never abandon you. He sees you, and His love for you is unwavering.

Join author, business owner, and mom of three Melissa Horvath on this transformative journey and discover that you, indeed, are made for this.

We know You Are Made for This: Devotions to Uplift and Encourage Busy Moms will be a blessing in your life or the life of someone you love.

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

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

 

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

 

*Giveaway open until 4/14/24 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only.

The Blessing of Showing Up Anyways

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It didn’t matter how happy that YouTube exercise influencer sounded, I wasn’t motivated to do that workout. I looked down the hallway at my bed and wondered if it was still warm under my bedcovers. Still, I laced up my shoes and waited for the music to begin. Like a robot, I mechanically swung my arms as directed. My feet shuffled to the beat. My thoughts, however, continued to march to a completely different drummer. A steady mental cadence tapped demotivating thoughts. Quit-Now. Warm-bed.  No-one-will-ever-know. The pull to quit was so strong. But, I knew that I would feel better when I was done.

Motivation is a fickle thing. A funny thing, too. Like, why don’t I need motivation to eat ice cream? My favorite ice cream stand opened a few weeks before Spring officially started. I did not need any positive self-talk to convince myself to drive 20 minutes across town to stand in line (in my winter coat) to order an ice cream sundae. On the flip side, I own a 128-ounce water jug with positive reinforcement messages on the side like “you can do it,” “keep going,” and “stick with it.” I need water to stay alive… but apparently, that isn’t enough for me to want to drink it.

Here’s what I’ve noticed in my life:

Often, some of my most memorable blessings happen when I’m unmotivated to do something, but I do it anyways. Is this true for you? Have you reluctantly agreed to go to a conference, a meeting, or even a Bible study, and there was that moment when you heard, saw, or felt something that made a meaningful impact on your day or life? There’s something about doing it anyways…

Last week, I woke up on Sunday morning with an unusual heaviness in my heart. I didn’t want to go to church, but I forced my feet over the edge of the bed and fumbled my way to getting dressed. As I walked into church, a little mental drumbeat tapped Turn-around. Just-leave. No-one-will-ever-know.  Still, I wedged myself past a few people into a row and sank into an empty seat. A sigh escaped. Welp, God, I’m here.

I didn’t have anything to offer God that day other than my warm body sitting in that seat.

Forgive me for saying this, but that church service did not change my life. It didn’t. But, being present did shift something inside of me. Listening to worship, receiving God’s Word, and then feeling the love and energy of God’s people changed my attitude. By the time I left, my thoughts were in a better place.

Funny how I didn’t want to be there, but God blessed me anyways.

In John 1, Jesus invites strangers to become His disciples with the invitation to “come and see.” He didn’t require them to get it together or even fix their attitudes. Jesus’s invitation wasn’t based on a regimented schedule of daily Bible reading plans or rituals. He simply said:

“Come and see.”
John 1:39 NLT

Later, the disciples would repeat this phrase to others. They would beckon those who were curious, but also the unsure and maybe even unmotivated, to come near to Jesus. Picture the crowds coming toward Jesus to see Him and hear from Him. They’d see Jesus’s compassion and power. They’d hear Jesus’s truth and hope. No one was required to get themselves together before they showed up.

For so long, God’s people tried to find salvation in the scrolls of Scripture, but Jesus was the Savior they’d been looking for all along. Religious rituals could never reach into the hearts of people in the way the life-transforming presence of the living, breathing Emmanuel in front of them could. When the people came to see Jesus, the lost, hurting, tired, and broken were met with love from heaven that healed them from the inside out.

Jesus’s invitation to come and see is alive and well for you today.

“Come and see” is for the hurting, reluctant, exhausted (and even the religiously exhausted). If you’re tired of empty religion or fake Christians, Jesus wants you to experience what the pastor Eugene Peterson calls Jesus’s “unforced rhythms of grace.”

In the presence of Jesus, we stop striving for spiritual perfectionism and we savor His way of grace.

Is today your invitation to come and see, even if you don’t want to? Whether it’s tapping open your Bible app, stopping to pray, going back to your small group, or even saying “yes” to that women’s event, even if you don’t want to, come and see anyways.

Give God an opportunity to bless you.

 

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

 

Do You Know Your Worth?

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I was sitting across the table from my daughter as we had pizza with my brother and his family. She is the oldest of the cousins and the only girl. I noticed at one point that both my nephews, who were sitting on either side of her, started to punch my daughter. They are 3 and 5 years of age, so they were just play-fighting with her. But something inside of me became annoyed and a little angry. I spoke up and told the boys to treat their cousin with kindness and to keep their hands to themselves. They listened and obeyed.

On our way home from that lunch, my daughter and I had a long conversation about the incident. I asked her why she allowed her little cousins to hit her. She responded, “It’s ok, they are little. They don’t know and it didn’t really hurt.” I told her that she was just making excuses for their negative behavior and that if she welcomed this behavior today, next time it could hurt. I continued educating her that it is her job to speak up for her body.

My daughter is a typical oldest child, a rule follower, and a people pleaser, so seeing that this incident upset me, she began to tear up. I took hold of her hand, squeezed it gently, and wiped the tears from her face. I reassured her that she was not in trouble.

I looked deep into her eyes and said, “You are my daughter, and I love you very much. To me, you are worth so much and I am only upset because I feel like you don’t see your true worth when you allow others to treat you like that.”

She nodded and leaned in for a hug. I cried as we held each other tight.

The Holy Spirit allowed that moment and conversation to remind me that my Heavenly Father feels the same way about me.

I am a recovering people pleaser. For most of my life, I allowed other people to gently push me around and dictate my worth. I would make excuses and ignore the punches so I could continue to sit at tables. I hid my Indian culture to fit in and make everyone else comfortable to have an illusion of belonging I desperately needed.

I would take on more than I could handle and never said “NO” because I wanted to be needed and didn’t want to disappoint anyone. I would spend hours overthinking something I said and feel horrible if I ever did speak up for myself. I made myself small to make others feel important, thinking that is what it meant to be humble and kind. I let people belittle me and I stayed in toxic environments for too long because I thought that is what Jesus would do.

I know I am not the only Jesus-loving woman who has lived this way.

Can I be honest with you? I am annoyed and a little angry to see how many of us have allowed this pattern to be our story.

It’s time to realize that it hurts the heart of God when His daughters don’t see their worth.

And if you need a reminder, read and meditate on these verses:

“And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.”
Matthew 10:30 (NIV)

“He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will quiet you by his love;
He will exult over you with loud singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 (ESV)

“Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you.”
Isaiah 43:4 (ESV)

Friend, it is time to stop settling for gentle punches and stop striving for the approval of people.

I pray that you sense God leaning in close to remind you today that you are worth so much. It is time to use your God-given voice, to rise up in the authority and position you have been given as the daughter of the King of Kings.

You are worth protecting and celebrating. 

You are delighted in because you are His.

 

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

To Dwell in the House of the Lord Right Now

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I held her hand in mine. The sounds of the hospital hummed all around us, just outside the door of her room. I could hear the nurses and other patients, background noise that didn’t provide any additional peace. 

She had texted me early that morning asking me to come to the hospital. We had become friends more than a year earlier when she had been diagnosed with cancer. I was still new to pastoring and even though I knew I didn’t have all the answers, I knew I could show up for her. 

She had been moved into palliative care a few weeks earlier, and the doctors weren’t sure how many days she had left. Her text indicated how afraid she was feeling and asked if I’d come to pray. 

I texted her back: of course I would come pray.

I drove down to the hospital and held tight to her hand as she told me all she was afraid of. 

She was so afraid she wasn’t forgiven by God, so afraid she wasn’t going to be with Him, so afraid she didn’t deserve eternity with Jesus. At one point, I said kindly but firmly, “You don’t deserve it. Neither do I. That’s what makes Jesus so good. You and I could never earn it. We could never be good enough. But Jesus trades our sin for His righteousness. God sees us through the lens of Jesus Christ… that’s what makes the gospel so good.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I’m forgiven,” she whispered.

I had preached on Psalm 23 at our church just days earlier, focused primarily on verse six: “Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

It flooded back into my mind as we talked. I began to recite it quietly. She closed her eyes and repeated the words. 

“I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” I said softly. 

“I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” she said. Her eyes were closed, her breaths were labored, but her face was filled with peace. 

We recited that line over and over and over. 

“Do you know what that means?” I said when she opened her eyes. “You’re going to be with Jesus forever.” 

“Forever,” she echoed. 

We spent a bit more time together before she needed to rest again. I gave her a tight hug and told her I loved her. 

As I left the hospital, I knew in my bones that those words were true: she would dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

But I couldn’t help but wonder: is that where I spend my days too? Do I dwell with Him? More often than not, I find myself dwelling in other spaces… in anxious spaces, in fearful places, in places where my mind wanders to “what if” scenarios. 

But the promise in Psalm 23 is not only that if we follow Jesus we’ll dwell with Him forever in eternity — the promise is for now, too. 

We can dwell with the Lord forever, starting right now. We can dwell in His presence in this very moment — during a hectic workday, while throwing in another load of laundry, in the middle of singleness or marriage or motherhood. Brother Lawrence, in his tiny book, Practicing the Presence of God, believed everything we do, mighty or mundane, can serve as prayer. He was a monk who primarily spent his time washing dishes. If washing dishes in a monastery can be a place where you dwell with Jesus, then you can dwell with Jesus anywhere. 

If you follow Jesus, you will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

But I think we may as well start now. 

 

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

 

Cry Out to God

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But in my distress I cried out to the Lord;
yes, I prayed to my God for help.
He heard me from his sanctuary;
 my cry to him reached his ears.
Psalm 18:6 NLT

God’s people have been a people who cry out. When the Israelites were enslaved by the Egyptians, they cried out for deliverance. During the reign of the judges, the people cried out when things turned for the worse. King David cried out in his depression, in anguish, and in repentance. Hannah cried out for a son, the prophets cried out for their people to turn from their own ways back to God, the bleeding woman cried out silently as she touched the hem of Jesus’s robe. And even Jesus cried out with His last breath on the cross.

We come from that line of people, and crying out together is our inheritance. We pray as our hearts ache for strained relationships, as we struggle in long seasons of darkness and sadness, as we sit in loneliness, as we work through resentment and bitterness, and as our tears stream down our faces for all the unspoken pains and longings in our hearts and in those around us.

Here at (in)courage one of our greatest privileges is turning to God together in prayer. Please leave a prayer request in the comments and then pray for the person who commented before you. Let’s experience the power of prayer as we pray for and with one another.

How can we pray for you?

Make Space in Your Soul for Hope

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Ask any Midwesterner about “fake spring” and they’ll surely have a story for you about packing away all the coats on a warm day only to have to pull the winter gear back out the next week. While I’m all for a shortened winter, I think these false-start spring days have something to teach us about the spiritual practice of living expectantly — even when we don’t feel particularly hopeful.

We brought our newborn son home from the hospital on Easter. Tucking a pastel green blanket around him and pulling a knitted cap over his head, I marveled at how much he resembled an Easter egg. After a long winter and an even longer pregnancy, it would finally be spring — the season of new life! And then, as we arrived on our doorstep, the wind howled, clouds covered the sun, and it started snowing.

My baby cried. So did I.

A couple weeks into the winter-that-wouldn’t-end, the sun reemerged and offered us an unseasonably warm day. Had we fast-forwarded over spring and gone right into summer? I knew it was too good to be true — the day before we’d been wearing puffy coats. I squeezed my postpartum body into a sundress, put the baby in his carrier, and located two matching shoes for my always-moving toddler. We were going on a walk. We were going to seize the summer day!

And seize it we did. I sat on the park bench and slipped my tired feet from my sandals, wiggling my toes in the sandbox and letting myself breathe in hope that while the beautiful forecast wouldn’t last through the week, it was also true that winter wouldn’t last forever. I watched my toddler conquer the playground, and as I felt the sun on my face, I also felt a glimmer of hope that the postpartum exhaustion wouldn’t stretch over my body and soul forever. Better days were ahead.

And then, wouldn’t you know? The very next day, it snowed.

But I’ve never minded false-start sunny days. Hope deferred is still hope. We need the small offerings of hope in our lives to remind us that just as there is darkness around us, light is near too.

From heartbreaking headlines to the everyday aches and anxieties that come with being human, we have every reminder that the world isn’t as it should be. And that’s why we have to cling to the promise of hope, even if hope itself still feels out of reach.

On that warm spring day years ago, I knew there were bound to be more cold days to come. I knew my circumstances weren’t going to suddenly change. I was in a difficult and demanding season of life that wasn’t going to improve with the changing of the natural seasons. But the warmth of the sun tethered me to the reminder that even though life didn’t feel particularly hopeful, hope was on the horizon. Someday, my baby wouldn’t be colicky. Someday, my toddler would potty train.

The expectancy of hope was enough.

Each headline feels heavier than the last these days. I find myself wondering how much pain our tender human hearts can hold. It’s in these moments that I need spiritual eyes to see glimmers of hope in hard times.

The expectancy of hope begets hope.

It’s that whisper deep in our souls that reminds us though life might not be better right now, or even in the foreseeable future, the sun will shine again someday. It’s why we’re drawn to a video of a little girl singing “Let It Go” in a bomb shelter. It’s why our hearts ache to share laughter with loved ones even as we gather to grieve the loss of another. These glimmers of hope don’t fix anything, but they keep us going.

The promise of hope begets hope.

It’s easy to close up our hearts and say hope is too far gone from a season, situation, or person. But it’s the braver choice to have the audacity to believe hope will return to our hearts even so. Even if. Even when.

In Mark 9, a man is desperate for relief for his son who is having seizures. He begs Jesus to help his child, and says, “I believe. Help me in my unbelief.” In times when hope seems lost, maybe the best we can do is get really honest with the One who knows every ache of our heart by praying this prayer: I hope. Help me in my hopelessness.

We cannot change the weather just as we cannot stop a warring world. But we can hold tight to the expectancy of hope. This is not the end. Despair does not have the final say. Cynicism won’t win. Winter won’t last forever.

Holding onto the expectancy of hope is not ignorant optimism. It’s not frilly or fanciful, but rather it sits in the pain and pushes through it. Hope is dirt under our fingernails as we plant tulip bulbs in the fall, believing that even though the days are going to get darker and colder, spring will someday come. Hope is us raking soggy leaves into piles to make way for shoots of green grass that will burst forth — maybe not tomorrow or next week or next month but someday.

The expectancy of hope is defiant. It’s a stubborn, gritty belief that even when our worlds are caving in, the groans of creation will not last forever.

We can come to Jesus with our most honest of prayers: I don’t have hope right now. But with Your help, I have hope that someday, I will have hope again.

Making space in our souls for hope even when nothing seems hopeful doesn’t ignore the seasons of winter in our lives or the very real suffering in our world but believes the truth that suffering does not have the final say.

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.
Hebrews 11:1 (NIV)

 

This article originally appeared on (in)courage here.

How to Hold On to Hope When You Just Can’t Anymore

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I didn’t expect to lose the will to live. That was something for quitters, those who were chronically negative or weak. From my earliest memories, I’ve always been a fighter. Determined, optimistic, stubborn to a fault. Quitting wasn’t an option.

Until it seemed the only option I had left.

It took twenty years of consecutive, unrelenting losses for me to finally lose my will to fight. Betrayal, divorce, single motherhood. Remarriage, step-parenting, and adolescent parenting, followed by fostering and parenting three kids from severe trauma. Then came the three cancer diagnoses in the span of five years — bam, bam, and BAM. And in the middle of that I buried my dad after his thirteen-month war against terminal pancreatic cancer.

And those were just the “big” losses. There were other struggles that were less sensational but no less painful. Like a Weeble Wobble, I’d always been able to bounce back from a challenge. But after the third cancer diagnosis — the one that left me with a permanent disability and in chronic pain — I lost my bounce. Instead, I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. Any hope I’d once had was gone.

There’s a verse in Romans 5 that talks about the power of hope:

And not only this, but we also celebrate in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us (vv. 3-5 NASB).

And hope does not disappoint, the God-inspired Scripture says.

And yet I remember reading those words and immediately feeling a surge of resistance. And white-hot anger.

That’s not true! I wanted to scream. Hope does disappoint!

I’d prayed for relief and deliverance for so many years. And yet, in spite of my bent knees and dogged hope, the only answer it seemed I’d receive was more suffering. More loss. More grief and tears. Disappointment was an ocean, and I was drowning in it. I battled to keep my faith afloat, to believe in a good and loving and powerful God. And yet that belief only seemed to leave me weary and desperate for rescue.

Where was the God of hope? Where was the one who said He loved me and would always be with me? Didn’t my relentless grief confirm His absence — or at least His disregard?

Somewhere in the midst of those hard years, I went to the mailbox and found a gift parcel. I didn’t recognize the return address. Inside was a short letter from a total stranger along with an olive wood cross small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. In the following months and years, I found myself holding on to that cross and rubbing its smooth surface when the worst of the losses threatened to take me under. Something about its tangible presence brought comfort.

Then, during Easter one year, I finally understood why. Although I’d long celebrated Jesus’s resurrection, it was Jesus’s suffering that gave me hope.

Jesus knew what it was like to endure pain and loss. He knew what it was like to ask God for relief and deliverance and not receive it. For so much of my faith journey, I’d viewed Easter through the joy of Jesus’s resurrection. But now I saw it through the eyes of His suffering and crucifixion. Jesus knew both physical pain and spiritual agony. He felt the seeming distance of the Father, who didn’t intervene and spare Him the cross.

And yet Jesus didn’t lose hope.

Why?

Because His hope wasn’t in an outcome. His hope was in a Person.

Remember your word to your servant, for you have given me hope. My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life.
Psalm 119:49-50 (NIV)

Your promise preserves my life, the psalmist wrote. Not God’s promise of happily ever after. Not God’s promise of physical healing or a perfect family or pain-free existence.

But God’s promise of Himself.

Jesus is God’s promise fulfilled, divine presence in human flesh. And heaven — the hope of an eternal, pain-free promised land — is the final piece of that promise, when I will live in the hope-filling presence of my Father God forever.

It’s now been almost six years since that season of suffering nearly took me under. I’ve had more hard days than I can count. Life continues to have unexpected circumstances and painful losses. Sure, I have plenty of good days too, and I celebrate those. But life remains hard for so many of us.

Still, as I look at my olive wood cross, more worn than it was six years ago, I remind myself again and again:

If I place my hope in an outcome — a prayer I want answered or a healing I want delivered — I will end up disappointed. “You will have suffering in this world,” Jesus says (John 16:33). That’s the bad news in no uncertain terms. None of us will escape the pain of the human condition. It’s part of the deal.

However, Jesus didn’t end with the bad news. “But take heart! I have overcome the world,” He promises (John 16:33).

Jesus — the flesh-and-blood presence of God Himself — is our good news. He is our hope, our answered prayer to all prayers. And if our hope rests in Him alone, we will not be disappointed. Our hope is as sure as His resurrection, our eternity as perfect as His promise. One way or the other, my friends, the best is yet to come.

This story was written by Michele Cushatt, and published in the Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible Study.

Create in Me a Heart of Hope is an (in)courage Bible study, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from your favorite (in)courage writers! The first in a series of four studies, Heart of Hope looks at how God offers us hope — real, certain, unshakable hope. We believe that looking at where that hope comes from and what it looks like in our lives will help us understand first, what hope is, and second, the difference it makes. It will allow God to create in us a heart of hope. Create in Me a Heart of Hope is now available wherever books are sold. Order your copy today!

And as we journey through April, the National Month of Hope, take a moment to explore these favorite resources from DaySpring that will help you live and share a confident hope in Jesus.

 

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

The Real Treasure

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One of my favorite stories Jesus tells us about the kingdom of heaven is found in Matthew 13:44 (NIV), “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.”

I read the Bible like I’m watching a movie or like I’m there when it all happens. In this particular story, a man finds a treasure. In my mind, I’m right there hiding behind a tree watching everything he’s doing. I see his joy and excitement about the treasure. He looks around to make sure no one saw him — and then hides his precious discovery again. Then he runs off and sells everything he owns to buy the land the treasure is on. 

I think sometimes we forget how precious the treasure is. This man was willing to sell everything else he owned for that treasure. We don’t know what he owned. Potentially some of his things had sentimental value. His home and land could have been in his family for generations. We don’t get the luxury of knowing all the details, but we do know he considered everything he owned worthless compared to that treasure. 

My husband, Darian, and I were recently invited to a ministry celebration. It was located at a beautiful resort in Florida on the Atlantic coast. Our room was lovely. There was fine dining and luxurious accommodations. As wonderful as all of that was, it paled in comparison to the actual reason we were there. For over 36 hours, we had the privilege of hearing how people were getting the Word of God into forbidden places, including the Middle East, China, and the outermost parts of the world. People from Russia, India, Japan, and many other countries shared their stories. 

One story I will never forget is of a Hindu family in the Himalayas. One of the daughters had received The Book of Hope (a Bible in condensed form for children) and given her life to Jesus. One by one, the rest of the family followed and began serving God at their local church. The father of the family was outraged and felt betrayed. He decided he was going to burn his entire family alive. He tied them all up and just as he was about to light the fire, a man from the new church arrived at their home. He was able to stop the dad from doing such a heinous act and led him to the Lord that day. That family had found a treasure in a field and their lives were the “everything they had” and they were willing to give it up for the treasure.

By the end of the celebration, I realized I was among some of the most Spirit-led, humble, and effective people in the world. God’s presence was in that place. I cried as I heard more stories of the Lord setting people free from addictions, abuse, hardship, and oppression. I was in awe of His love, protection, and ability to reach people.

God will go to great lengths to accomplish His will. All He needs is someone who values the treasure as He does. 

The irony of staying in that fabulous resort and hearing those incredible stories hit me. None of it mattered. The only thing I could think of was Jesus and the love of God. As everything else faded, my desire to do more for Jesus increased. 

I want what I do on Earth to last for eternity. I don’t think there is anything wrong with having nice things or staying in amazing places, but possessions and vacations won’t last forever. Those things don’t make a difference in eternity. Only the things we do for the kingdom of God will last forever. Our careers, hobbies, homes, and cars will not last. They are just pieces of land we must be willing to sell for the real treasure God has for us. 

Only the things done for the Lord have any real value. Yet we like to elevate things that don’t deserve that honor. Nothing deserves the honor of our love, praise, and sacrifice except God. The Himalayan family knew this. They didn’t even consider their own lives worth more than the kingdom of heaven. 

I have a boat dock on my property that I really enjoy. It’s not my “she-shed.” It’s my she-dock. I truly love being there. It’s where I often go to write and spend time with the Lord. One day when I was down there enjoying the fresh air on my face, the reflection of the water, and the sound of the birds, I heard the Lord say to me, “This dock is wood, hay, and stubble.” I knew exactly what He meant. He was telling me to go ahead and enjoy it — it was a gift from Him. But it wouldn’t last forever. It is not the treasure He has for me.

Let’s put our focus on the real treasure, the things that last forever.

Darian and I almost canceled that trip because of some inconveniences in our life. I’m so glad we didn’t. Being in that atmosphere, in the presence of God and people who follow hard after Him, reaffirmed my priorities. I want to build with “gold, silver, and jewels,” not wood, hay, and straw. I want the things I spend my life on to have eternal value.

I love how Jesus said that the man who found the treasure hidden in a field was joyful. He wasn’t disappointed to sell all he had. He couldn’t wait to do it. This was the best day of his life. The treasure was far greater than anything else he could imagine. Nothing on earth compares to the kingdom of heaven. It truly is the greatest treasure. 

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