The Painful and Beautiful Lesson of Unconditional Kindness

The Painful and Beautiful Lesson of Unconditional Kindness

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“Your kindness will reward you, but your cruelty will destroy you.”
Proverbs 11:17 NLT

I remember so clearly the day my friend Jane said she needed to talk to me. I walked back to her office and sat down, unaware of the blow that was coming but nervous all the same. She told me that I’d hurt her deeply with an offhand remark someone had overheard and reported to her, and she didn’t understand why I’d say such a thing.

Staring at her in shock, my eyes filled with tears and all I could think was, But I prayed for you! I couldn’t consider how my actions had hurt my friend or how my misconstrued words had the opposite effect of what I intended. All I could think about was how, just a few weeks earlier, I’d prayed around the clock for Jane’s family during a crisis. I’d supported her and loved her and been there for her, and now she doubted me. She took the word of another that I had said something to hurt her. My heart was crushed, and my defenses were sky-high. We sat in that room, both of us feeling betrayed and let down by the other.

Though I didn’t feel sorry in the moment, I apologized to my friend. And I eventually did understand how the words I’d intended to be kind and encouraging to another friend had, in fact, been hurtful to Jane. Genuinely remorseful, I then apologized to her again.

I realized something after that situation though. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt doubly offended by someone I’d prayed for. Not only had they wronged me (at least in my mind), but they did it despite how fervently I’d prayed for them. I realized that I was treating prayer — an intimate act of kindness that, to me, carried enormous relational weight — as a guarantee that the person I prayed for would owe me a similar kindness. Rather than seeing prayer as an unconditional gift on behalf of someone I care about, I saw the act of praying for my friends — or helping them move or throwing them a baby shower or helping them write a résumé or, if I’m honest, any sizable gesture of kindness — as an investment or as friendship insurance.

Somewhere along the way, I began to believe that kindness deserved to be repaid, that kindness was a deposit into a relationship and I’d eventually see dividends returned for my efforts. If you had asked me, I’m certain I would have said that kindness was its own reward, that helping others was how I showed them my love and God’s love. But part of me still expected to get what I’d “earned” with all my good deeds and kindness.

Unfortunately, that experience permanently changed my friendship with Jane. But God also used it to begin changing my heart. He showed me that while I was often kind, my motives weren’t pure. And He reminded me that I shouldn’t expect earthly rewards anyway. During the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus flipped many of His listeners’ assumptions upside-down—including how they should treat their enemies. He said, “But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked” (Luke 6:35 NIV).

Jesus said our reward for showing kindness — to enemies, yes, but also to friends — would be great. But He never promised that reward in this life. Now, when I read His words and Proverbs 11:17, which promises a reward for kindness, I understand that the reward we receive is a heavenly one. It’s the satisfying knowledge that we are acting like our heavenly Father did when He showed us His love by sending His only Son, knowing we could never repay that gift.

Love without strings and kindness without expectations aren’t easy. They are impossible, really, unless we ask God to give us His heart for others. Only then will we be able to truly love one another, giving freely and offering kindness as a genuine expression of God’s love. And our eternal reward for that will be more than we can imagine.

God, I’m so grateful for Your unconditional kindness. Please forgive me for treating kindness as a transaction, and please give me the strength and love to be kind to others without expecting anything in return. Amen.

This article was written by Mary Carver, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Three Unexpected Lessons from a Graveyard

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The storm clouds moved in quickly, leaves rustling and branches swaying overhead as I stared at the gravestones for my grandparents. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stood beneath the old tree, memories playing in my mind as a phrase rolled like ticker tape below: We sit in the shade of trees we did not plant.

I shared the story behind that sentence earlier this summer, unaware that words spoken over me ten years ago would become a prayer of thanks this fall.

“Because of the seeds sown generations ago,” I wrote a few months ago, “we’re able to find a little bit of respite from the heat. Because others came before us, watering and tending with care, we get to rest and enjoy beauty we can’t sign our names to. Our right-now lives are changed because someone somewhere at some point gave sacrificially and showed up faithfully. Once upon a time, someone planted a seed, and now we sit in its shade.”

I took one last look before turning to leave, moved by the dancing limbs of the tree that stretched toward stones engraved with names dear to me, the familiar phrase suddenly made new in a cemetery.

I sit and rest and live in shade made from seeds my grandparents planted long ago, but the story stretches back further, because they could say the same about those who came before, and before, and before all the way back to “in the beginning.”

Little did I know a similar reminder waited for me in a graveyard several states away.

Rain fell in sheets against the windshield as I started the car and continued on my road trip north. By the time I stopped in Boston, eager to stretch my legs and explore for the afternoon, a cobalt blue sky stretched overhead, not a cloud in sight.

I toured Paul Revere’s house, meandered along picturesque cobblestone streets, wandered through the spacious Boston Common, and stumbled upon Granary Burying Ground – a historic cemetery on the Freedom Trail. Established in 1660, thousands of slate gravestones hold their ground. Many of the engraved words are barely legible now, and most of the stones are tilting from time, but the place is peaceful, quiet, and wouldn’t you know it – shaded by trees planted in 1830.

I strolled slowly, pausing to read the historical markers, until a note on one took my breath away. For many women at this time, it stated, the only historical evidence of their lives would be their tombstones.

Their stories are, in nearly every way, lost to history.

My eye caught on a simple gravestone nearby, nearly empty of words, just “M. Sarah Daggett 1789” etched on slate that has stood for over two hundred years.

I don’t know who she was, who she loved, or what she did. I don’t know what her days held or what stories she could tell. But I do know that I stood silent, staring, struck by the truth that even if the only thing that says we were here is a tombstone, our ordinary lives still leave a legacy – and somehow, two hundred years later, someone we’ll never know might be encouraged by the reminder that ordinary does not equal unimportant.

And that is worth something.

I continued on, a list of questions I’d love to ask Sarah growing in my mind, until the path curved toward a large memorial for Paul Revere. Placed there in the 19th century, it stands next to the tiny original headstone that simply reads “Revere’s tomb.” The contrast in size was startling, but side by side they preach a silent sermon: small does not equal insignificant.

Surrounded by history and thousands of everyday stories lost to time, I couldn’t help but think of how Scripture tells the same story time after time: We have a Savior who seeks out the unseen, who stops for the one, who paints parable pictures with ordinary objects, and highly values the small things.

The Samaritan woman at the well.
A mustard seed.
The woman who bled for twelve years.
A lost coin.
Nathaniel. Zacchaeus. Bartimaeus.
A lamp under a bowl.

I didn’t set out looking for lessons in graveyards, but they found me all the same, three reminders to carry into however many days remain in the dash between years that will one day mark a stone with my own name.

We sit in the shade of trees we did not plant.
Ordinary ≠ unimportant.
Small ≠ insignificant.

If God cares about the smallest of things, if He values the ordinary, then the beautiful truth is that our mundane moments matter. What seems small and ordinary to us, what is unseen and unknown by others, actually holds weight. It changes the course of history. It’s true for Paul Revere, a name made famous centuries later, but it’s just as true for every Sarah Daggett, every name we’ve never heard and will never know. They impacted someone, who impacted someone, who impacted someone. Seed, root, stem, trunk, branch, leaf.

Wherever these words find you today, walking a cobblestone street or washing dishes at the kitchen sink, may they be a small, simple reminder: your beautiful, ordinary right-now life matters.

“So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life — your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life — and place it before God as an offering.”
Romans 12:1 MSG

Walking Worthy in the Middle of Real Life

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“Therefore I, a prisoner for serving the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling, for you have been called by God. Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. Make every effort to keep yourselves united in the Spirit, binding yourselves together with peace. For there is one body and one Spirit, just as you have been called to one glorious hope for the future.”
Ephesians 4:1–4 NLT

Sister, you have been called.

Not just to a ministry. Not just to motherhood, leadership, or your résumé.
You have been called to belong to God.

Your calling shows up in the everyday places of your life — the kitchen, the conference room, the carpool line, the quiet moments when no one sees. God isn’t waiting for you to finally “arrive” somewhere big before your life counts. He’s with you in the right-now, shaping your heart and using your influence in ways you may never fully see.

But let’s be honest: some days it’s hard to believe our lives matter.
When the laundry pile mocks us.
When appointments and expectations pull in ten different directions.
When someone’s criticism stings, or comparison whispers that we’re behind.

Yet God speaks a different word over you: called.

Paul reminds us to live worthy of that calling — not by striving or proving, but by reflecting Jesus in the places we already are.

  • Be humble — choose to listen instead of needing to be right.

  • Be gentle — soften your tone, even when emotions run high.

  • Be patient — give others room to grow, just like God does with you.

  • Make allowance — assume the best, release the rest.

  • Protect unity — speak peace into every room you enter.

You don’t have to do it perfectly. You don’t have to be enough on your own.

God gives His Spirit so we can live this out — one small obedient step at a time.
His grace steadies you. His peace surrounds you. His hope anchors you.
And He places you in community so you never walk alone.

So today, when you’re tempted to measure your worth by productivity, appearance, or approval, remember: you are called because He called you — not because you earned it.

Walk into your day knowing that what you do matters, because Who you reflect matters.

Today, before you respond, react, or rush… pause and whisper: “Holy Spirit, lead me.”

Which Ephesians 4 virtue will you choose to practice intentionally today?

A Tradition to Remember Those Who Have Walked Before Us

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Thanksgiving has always held a special place in my heart. Growing up, it was always a time we would be with family. It was a time of games and lots of good food. One of my favorite memories was my mother preparing the table with her tablecloth — a white cloth with hand-stitched names in an array of colors that covered every inch of the fabric. Names from the past. Family members who are no longer with us. Friends who have impacted our lives. Our children and grandchildren.

Each one a reminder of the time spent at mother’s table.

This tablecloth spans almost fifty years of memories. My grandparents’ shaky signatures sit alongside my children’s bold handwriting. Aunts and uncles, family friends, cousins, missionaries, exchange students — each name tells a story of my parents opening their home to share a meal.

Mother started this tradition at holidays and when special guests were present. She would pull it from her closet, cleaned and freshly ironed, and lay it lovingly on the table. No meal was too simple, no guest too ordinary to earn a place on that sacred cloth.

At Thanksgiving and Christmas, we enjoyed looking at the names. Each was written in that person’s handwriting with the date they ate at the table. This would invoke a memory or conversation about that person. The tablecloth became our family’s gratitude journal, written in permanent ink across decades. As the years have gone on, my mother and father have both passed. I am now the proprietor of the tablecloth. I don’t really want to use it. I’m afraid of soiling it or the names rubbing off. But I can hear my mother say, “Use it! Remember the people on it. Be hospitable. Be thankful.”

Thankful. That word echoes through my heart as I unfold the tablecloth and see the tapestry of relationships woven across its surface.In the Bible, we read of many instances where, when Christ was on earth, he shared meals with others. In Matthew 9 NIV, we read of Jesus eating with Matthew, the tax collector. He ate with his good friends, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. The most famous meal was the Last Supper, where Jesus prepared the disicples for his upcoming death. Jesus knew that humans sometimes need physical reminders to remember things. Through communion, Christ gave a physical example of his death, burial, and resurrection at this supper. He knew that this tangible act, set around a meal at a table, would stir our hearts toward thankfulness at the rememberance of any table.

1 Corinthians 11:24 ESV says, “And when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, ‘This is my body, which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.'” Notice those words, “And when he had given thanks.” Even in His final hours, Christ paused to express gratitude. We remember the sacrifices Christ made for us. We remember his death as he gave his body on the cross. We remember that he rose again.

I need reminders, too. And this tablecloth, made by my mother, is a perfect way to remember those who have come to the table — and to give thanks for each life that has touched ours.

I will use our family tablecloth this Thanksgiving. I want my children and grandchildren to remember those who have walked before us — those who have left us and those still here. Just as when I partake of the Lord’s supper, remembering and giving thanks for my Lord who gave up everything for me, I will spread this tablecloth and give thanks for the beautiful community He has woven into our lives, one shared meal at a time.

The Secret Ingredient Your Holiday Meal Really Needs

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Having the right blend of spices is crucial to the outcome of a dish. I learned this lesson the hard way, with a few flops at our Thanksgiving dinner. (Not sure if there’s a worse time to have a dish flop than on Thanksgiving Day?!)

Stuffing is the star of the show at our house. Everyone looks forward to it, including me. But a few years ago, while preparing our meal, I made a horrible discovery: I was out of sage. I only use a small amount, so I convinced myself it wouldn’t matter. I added extra salt, pepper, and poultry seasoning, hoping to cover my tracks. Big mistake.

After the first bite, the verdict was unanimous. The stuffing just didn’t taste right. Big mounds were left on everyone’s plates. And, as if that weren’t enough, I was also out of cinnamon for the pumpkin pie. It was too late to run to the store, so after a brief meltdown in the kitchen (possibly involving some tears and a slammed cupboard door), I decided to improvise. I sprinkled in nutmeg and cloves, hoped for the best, and slid the pie into the oven. Wrong again. Very wrong.

That pie went down in family history as The Pumpkin Pie Epic Fail of All Time!

That Thanksgiving meal taught me something I’ll never forget. Some spices simply cannot be substituted or omitted. Now, I carefully check my spice cabinet before the holidays, making sure I’m stocked and ready to go. Last year, as I was taking inventory, the Lord brought a verse to mind that stopped me in my tracks:

Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt.
Colossians 4:6 ESV

I was struck by the contrast of my effort to prepare my food to be palatable. How much thought was I giving to my words, which also need to be carefully seasoned? The honest answer: not always a whole lot.

The holidays have a way of drawing out the best in us, and sometimes the worst. We’re surrounded by people we love dearly, but those same people can also push our buttons. Add stress, fatigue, and an endless to-do list, and careless words can slip out before we even realize it.

Paul’s reminder is both convicting and encouraging. Our words should be full of grace and communicate kindness, patience, and love. And here’s the key: seasoning our words isn’t about putting on a fake smile or sugarcoating the truth. As Jesus said, “Out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45).

In other words, what is in my heart will spill out in my words. The real issue isn’t my vocabulary. It’s my heart. The goal isn’t perfect performance. It’s a heart postured to love God more than anything else. That is, after all, the greatest command. And the second is to love others as ourselves. Love God. Love others.

When I posture my heart this way, grace will overflow naturally into my words. During the holiday season, we’d be wise to remember, “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21).

So, as you prepare your pantry and stock up on spices, don’t forget to pray and ask the Lord to prepare your heart, too. Whether it’s our food or our words, the right seasoning makes all the difference. After all, it’s not just the food that leaves a lasting taste. It’s the words we share.

God on the Set of DaySpring’s Original Hallmark Christmas Movie

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Did you know that (in)courage is part of DaySpring, and DaySpring is part of Hallmark? Our very own Anna E. Rendell was invited to visit the set of the 2024 DaySpring Original Hallmark Christmas movie, and you’re going to love this behind-the-scenes peek at what she learned!

I love Hallmark Christmas movies. I’ve seen hundreds of them. My husband just hands over the remote control from October through December. I’ve written devotions about them, and my calendar includes movie premieres highlighted in red and green.

So it was an actual dream come true, a once-in-a-lifetime adventure last fall when I was invited to on the set of a DaySpring original Hallmark Christmas movie, Following Yonder Star, during filming!

God showed up throughout the whole experience on set – and not just because it’s a beautiful movie about faith.

Here are a few ways I saw God while on the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie.

1. Everyone on the crew has a specifically chosen role to play.

Each person on the set was incredibly talented, and each one had been hired specifically for certain tasks. We spoke to the lighting director for twenty minutes as he effused about how he could create “movie magic” with a few adjustments of lights. It was fascinating. We met a woman whose job was Continuity. She sat with a printed script and pencil in hand, writing notes on each take so that the next one could appear seamless. For instance, in the film, if you see a coffee cup on a table, she’s the one who makes sure that cup still appears in the frame during another shot. She told us she’s “saved” dozens of movies with her catches! We saw one person whose entire job was to place fake snow in the places where snow would’ve naturally fallen, were a lovely light snowfall happening. And another whose task was creating all the fake snow piles by pouring frothy soap out of a long hose, which was connected to a massive vat on a truck!

From the lighting to the continuity, the snow placers to the screen testers, the leads and the backgrounds to the producers and caterers… Everyone on set had a very specific job with customized direction. If they didn’t do that job, no one else would, and then it wouldn’t happen, and neither would the film. Yep. Truly. That’s how much each one matters!

It reminded me deeply of the body working together for the good of the Kingdom, and how the way we are each made is so very purposeful. We all have certain gifts, talents, callings, and quirks that make us light up with joy. Our passions can help propel us to who we are made to be. We saw that come to life on this set.

2. What’s happening offscreen matters even more than what’s captured on camera.

When we watch a movie, we see one tiny zoomed-in fraction of the action that’s happening on set. From the minute they yell “Cut!”, the whole set explodes with action. Everyone springs up to fulfill their role as they adjust lighting, reset props, consider continuity notes, fix makeup, fuss with snow, practice lines, offer food, warm hands, advise background, and more. The flurry lasts for several minutes before you hear the word “Action!”. All 200 people on set are thinking of the viewers and working together toward the goal of their experience.

It’s not unlike our own lives. There is always more happening outside of the curated frame we let people see. Whether it’s the script we’re trying to write for our own lives, or what we share on social media, or the glimpses we give to others of how we’re really doing, people only see what we share with them. And knowing what’s happening behind the scenes can deeply enrich the detail and beauty found inside the frame.

3. Every angle offers a different perspective.

One of the gifts of my time on set was a special meal with the producers, director, and lead actors. One evening, we all walked through a lit path in the forest and sat down to a stunning dinner cooked over a campfire – real-life Hallmark movie magic! Among other delightful conversations that evening, we talked about the director’s unique filming style. He pays attention to and considers every angle before setting up the scene with multiple cameras and angles to film in a succession of widest, closer, and closest shots. This style adds a depth to the movie, and the actors get to build their emotions to the close-up of their face (the one we see right before it goes to commercial!).

We, too, can consider all the angles around us, using them to help us create a richer, deeper, more meaningful life. And God has a way of helping us sift through the noise, helping us to zoom in and make the big picture clearer.

4. Kindness and love are what make the best movies.

From the moment we stepped foot on set, we were met with deep kindness. Every person we spoke with was happy to be doing what they loved and thrilled to share it with us. The pride each person took in their work was evident in each and every detail. And all needs were met, often before they were spoken. Coats were offered, coffee was procured, food was ordered, feedback was received, and ears to listen were made available.

The hearts of the people are what made this movie so wonderful. From the writers’ script to the lighting curated and customized for each shot, the props meticulously chosen for each angle of every scene to the actors who brought it all to life, and every detail in between. . . the faith, hope, and love of God shines through.

And that’s all from only a couple of days spent on set! There were countless experiences of joy and delight – as a Hallmark movie fan seeing the magic come to life off screen, and as a Hallmark employee seeing the good work that we do presented to the wider world.

The director shared with us that his goal with Following Yonder Star was to “infuse heart and humor” into the film, and that is exactly what he and the entire crew did. From the opening scene to the ending credits, this movie is full of sheer joy, humor, and heart.

I know when you tune in and watch the movie, you’ll feel the love I felt behind the scenes; it comes through the camera to create something very special. You’ll love Following Yonder Star.

Learning to Trust When You Can’t See the Way Forward

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Every day, I try to ignore the ugly, gigantic, round sign on our front lawn with the bright, bold words that read “For Sale.” Not only are the aesthetics an eyesore for our beautiful casita (small home in Spanish) but every time I see the sign, I feel my heart break more and more. Selling our home is not a decision my husband and I wanted to make; it’s one we were forced into due to financial hardships. And we’re not the only family facing these impossible decisions. . .

From trying to feed three growing teenagers who seem to consume endless amounts of food, to rising costs on everything, and finding myself between jobs, I often think, “I don’t know what to do.” 

Some days, I feel confident enough to approach the throne of the Lord with boldness, asking Him and trusting in Him for all I need, thanking Him for all He’s already done, and eagerly awaiting His response to the things that remain. I feel confident as I trust His timing and His perfect will. 

However, there are also days when I am convinced God is ignoring my prayers and takes pleasure in watching me struggle. Even though I know this is a complete lie from the enemy, sister, it sometimes still feels true. It’s still easy to believe I’m the only one who sees the reality of a situation and wonders, Where is God in all of this? How am I going to get through it? Where are you, God? I don’t know what to do!

In 2 Chronicles chapter 20, we find the story of King Jehoshaphat leading the nation of Judah through a major crisis. A large army made up of Moabites, Ammonites, and Edomites from Mount Seir came to attack Judah. There is so much in this chapter that amazes me about King Jehoshaphat — his faith, his audacity, and his trust in the Lord. This is what King Jehoshaphat says in his distress;

“Our God, will you not judge them? For we are powerless before this vast number that comes to fight against us. We do not know what to do, but we look to you.”
2 Chronicles 20:12 CSB

It’s clear that King Jehoshaphat had this urgent question for the Lord, almost like asking, “Aren’t you going to do something about this?” He also recognized his current situation and understood that he lacked the power to overcome it. What King Jehoshaphat knew was that his strength and victory came from the Almighty God — “We do not know what to do, but we look to you.”  

Even in His distress, King Jehoshaphat chose a posture of humility, surrender, and complete trust in the Lord.

As I read this passage multiple times, I had to grapple with the posture of my own heart regarding my current situation. I’ve had to accept that I don’t have all the answers and won’t ever have them all. That’s never been my job.  Although my present circumstances are real and carry uncomfortable implications, I can acknowledge them, feel my emotions when they arise, and still surrender everything as I look to Jesus. We are not called to figure it all out — grasping for a false sense of control — but we’ve been invited to place all our cares in the hands of the One who already has it all figured out.

Oh friend, I know this is sometimes easier said than done. I, too, have cried out in desperation to Jesus, tired and depleted, asking how much longer, Lord?. I’ve declared I believe, but in the same breath, I ask Jesus to help me in my unbelief.

After King Jehoshaphat and the people of Judah pray for help against the invading armies, they receive God’s instructions: 

“You do not have to fight this battle. Position yourselves, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord. He is with you, Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid or discouraged. Tomorrow, go out to face them, for the Lord is with you.’”
2 Chronicles 20:17 CSB

The word of the Lord to King Jehoshaphat was clear that day — and it’s the same word we can embrace today. Here are some things I believe the Lord is speaking to us.

1. “You do not have to fight this battle.”
Sister, we may be facing tough times, but let’s remember we don’t need to fight just for the hope of a victory. No, sister, we fight from a place of victory! God’s got this — He’s fighting for us!

2. “Position yourselves, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.”
In the midst of our impossible circumstances, I pray we would choose humility, surrender, and complete trust in the Lord.  May He grant us peace in the waiting, knowing our redeemer lives. May the Lord open our eyes to see that Jesus, our Saviour, is here!

3. “Do not be afraid or discouraged.”
Let’s commit to not allowing fear to dictate our faith. Let’s not lose confidence in a God that remains faithful.

Amiga, I may not understand how tough your situation is, but I believe in the God who knows your circumstances completely, and He never leaves you. Even if you’re unsure what to do, God knows, so keep turning to Him for strength. As you face tomorrow, I leave you with the words the Lord spoke to King Jehoshaphat: “Tomorrow, go out to face them, for the Lord is with you.” 

Keep going, friend. Face tomorrow confidently, for the Lord is with you.

 

Listen to Ligia’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast.

The Gift of Showing Up

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Sometimes, you just need people to show up — especially when you’re scared, especially when you’re tired, especially when you need a little Christmas.

I’ll never forget November 2018. It was my second battle with cancer, my second time undergoing chemo. This time, perhaps because my body was already worn down from a round of Hodgkin’s lymphoma, the chemo for breast cancer took an extra toll.

I had a fainting spell at a restaurant, passed out cold and wound up in the hospital for a week. It was November in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and if you know anything about Pittsburgh, you know it can be cold and cloudy. My room had a beautiful view of a nearby college, but it was overcast every single day.

Doctors tried to figure out what caused my spell. Did I need to change chemo? Was I just dehydrated? Was something going on in my brain? Nobody really had answers. But I was blessed: time passed, people visited, and I finally received the all-clear to go home.

I remember the car ride home. My son was still at school, and I asked my husband to take me through the Chick-fil-A drive-thru. I wanted a peppermint shake, because the holidays were upon us and we were getting close to Thanksgiving.

At home, I got settled in. The next day was a Saturday and my husband had to work. So, it was just me and my son. All I could think that morning was how much I needed a little Christmas. I needed the house to be decorated. I needed simple reminders everywhere of the holiday season and everything it brings. And I needed people.

So, I did something I usually don’t do. I let the fear of rejection pass, and I sent texts and emails to my people — my small group, friends from church, folks I knew in town, and coworkers. All I said was:

“I just need a little Christmas.”

One by one, they responded. On a busy November weekend, when these friends probably needed to decorate their own homes, they showed up at mine with tons of food and extra hands to decorate. My house ended up being decorated super early that year, though my friends’ homes were probably decorated later than normal.

I will forever take away two big lessons from that day:

  1. When you need people, don’t be afraid to ask. Ask God, and ask your community. He invites us to lean on one another and carry each other’s burdens. “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ” Galatians 6:2 (NIV). This is why community matters.
  2. Some of the women who came didn’t even know each other until that day — and some may not have talked since. But they brightened my world: the food, the conversation, even fixing lights that had been broken on a strand for years.

All little memories I’ll hold from a time when I was scared, exhausted, needing friends, and needing a little Christmas.

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.”
Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Friends, take a moment to take inventory of your heart. Reflect upon these questions then share your thought in the comments below:

  • Where do you need someone to “show up” this week?
  • What stops you from asking for help (fear, pride, past hurt)?
  • Who could you show up for today or this week?
  • Which verse above do you need to memorize for this season?

Why Slowing Down Isn’t a Step Backward

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When I was a kid, I dreamed of growing up, living in a city, and having a life of my own outside the confines of my parents’ house. I daydreamed about going to work, going out to lunch, having an apartment just like Kathleen Kelly’s in You’ve Got Mail, and making new friends. I figured my evenings would be filled with singing around the piano with turtleneck-wearing friends and visiting the farmer’s market for fresh pretzels and tulips.

Of course, once I finished college and went to grad school, I realized that the life I longed for was going to take some intentionality! Dreamy dinner parties don’t just happen, so I started to put together the building blocks of my life in my mid-twenties.

First, I got a job. This took up 50 hours a week, sometimes more, and it gave me rhythms. I was a bit overworked, but that’s part of being young, or so I figured. So I filled my days with work, my nights with friends or errands, and my weekends with exploring the different cities I called home — Austin, Nashville, Fayetteville, and Boston’s north shore. There was so much to do! So much to explore!

It didn’t take long for me to realize that when you add small group at church and serving on the worship team and having dinner with friends and joining the gym and becoming part of the town Horseshoe club (really), you start to say things like, “next week will be better!” or “I’ll finally have some space later this month.”

The spontaneity dries up, and the calendar gets booked further and further out. This may be part of growing up, but for me, it felt like a train had left the station and it would be very difficult to stop. Of course, as I looked to my left and my right, it seemed like everyone else was bragging on their busy, so I tried my best to just keep up the pace.

I know that there are people who avoid pain by being busy. But for me? I was really enjoying the life I was living. I had good intentions to build a bigger and bigger community, and that’s a good thing. After all, we’re called as Christians to pursue relationship with God and one another.

Still, a lot of a good thing isn’t always the best thing.

As many of you know, the last year gave me a run for my money. I found myself facing a nightmare on a daily basis as I watched my beloved little brother Thomas forget what was true. He struggled with addiction, and we all watched from a distance as it cost him his life. I felt every text and call and bad dream and fearsome daydream of his destructive spiral, on top of the already full life I’d built.

And when I got the call that he was gone, a moment that feels like it was just yesterday, even though it was six months ago (though is there a difference this early in grief?), my calendar couldn’t contain the same weight. His death demanded that I pause.

I was engaged when Thomas died and got married a few weeks ago, so there was never a moment to fully exhale. But as soon as I got back from a mini-honeymoon with my husband, I looked at my calendar with cross-country flights planned for next month and felt the Lord gently say, “Let’s stay put.”

I made my argument for why I needed to go on the trip, why I needed to prioritize my family (a good thing!) back in California, and why I should just keep the pace. But then I realized that my days can’t be lived out at breakneck speed when my heart is broken.

For so long, I felt like life was about the next big thing. The next good thing. But maybe, just maybe, slowing down isn’t a step backward, but the next step. I quietly slowed my roll like a train coming into the station, reaching the speed at which a conductor can walk alongside. The slow hiss of the brakes releasing and the train stopping felt like sudden relief, and also left my heart so tender.

I think that if I’d continued to push forward with every single commitment, I wouldn’t have slowed enough to notice how much I miss my brother. I wouldn’t have noticed the sky at dusk or the way that making a meal instead of grabbing something to go between meetings would be a sweet sort of pace.

One afternoon, as we settled into our apartment, my husband, a very good slower-downer, said to me, “I am changing the light bulbs.” I’ve always had standard, warm lights, but he wanted to lower the wattage to just 15W, making our apartment so cozy that I started falling asleep on the couch by 9 pm.

No longer full of excuses to burn the midnight oil, I have seen how tired I’ve been for so long.

Jesus, in a quote that we often mention, calls to us and says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28 NIV).

I’ve often considered how to hand God things, but hadn’t considered until recently how our burdens are exchanged for rest. As I’ve offloaded my calendar, I’ve gotten increasingly tired — and it is giving way to rest.

I don’t know what this next season of life looks like, but the invitation to recover has been the most welcome thing to someone who used to boast in her resilience and ability to bounce back. It seems to me that setting down burdens doesn’t mean that the good things we’ve carried are bad, it means that we can only carry so much. And when we’re grieving or recovering from anything, our capacity has to shift – and that’s not a bad thing.

It might just be the best thing for us.

A Prayer for the Weary Soul

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“O Lord, I am calling to you. Please hurry!
Listen when I cry to you for help!
Accept my prayer as incense offered to you,
and my upraised hands as an evening offering.”
Psalm 141:1–2 NLT

Sometimes prayer feels effortless — like breathing. Other times, it feels like gasping for air. In this psalm, David doesn’t hide behind polite words or polished faith. He comes raw and real: “Please hurry! Listen when I cry to you for help!”

What a relief to know we can pray like this, too. God doesn’t require us to have it all together before we come to Him. Instead, He invites us to bring our honesty. Our weariness. Our waiting.

But notice David’s reverence too — his cry is paired with worship: “Accept my prayer as incense… my upraised hands as an offering.” Even in desperation, he remembers who God is: worthy, holy, attentive, kind.

This is the sacred rhythm of prayer: honesty and honor, lament and trust. When we lift our hearts like David, we create space for both grief and gratitude. Our tears become worship. Our cries become connection. And somewhere between the ache and the amen, hope begins to rise again.

So today, come to God as you are, no masks, no filters. Cry out for what you need. Remember who He’s always been. And thank Him for how He’s still at work, even now.

Community Practice:
In the comments, share a short prayer request — something you’re crying out to God for. Then, take a moment to pray for another sister who shares. Let’s lift one another up like incense before the Lord.

Your Assignment May Change, But Your Purpose Never Will

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I thought I had my life all figured out. Since I was twelve years old, all I ever wanted to do was be an attorney — and my dream came true. But after years of hard work as a trial attorney (and later as a judge), I was able to take early retirement at fifty years old. It sounded like another dream: freedom from the 9 to 5 grind, space to breathe, time to finally do all the things I had put off doing. But once the celebrations faded and the routine settled in, an unexpected restlessness began to surface in my soul.

What do you do when the plans you carefully mapped out don’t fill the space in your soul?

I wrestled with that question daily. For so long, my identity had been tied to my career. People respected the title before they knew my name. Stepping out of that role left me feeling unanchored, like I had lost a piece of myself. My assignment had changed, but I wasn’t sure who I was without the courtroom, the schedule, and the responsibility.

Maybe you’ve been there, too. The empty nest season feels lonelier than you expected. A job transition leaves you wondering if your best days are behind you. Or an unexpected detour makes you question if you missed God’s plan altogether.

In the quiet of those restless days, God gently reminded me that while my assignment had changed, my purpose had not. My calling was never about the robe I wore in court or the position I held. My calling was, and always will be, to use the gifts God’s given me to glorify Him and help others.

Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV) became the promise that spoke to me in that season: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

God’s plans are always bigger than our carefully written scripts. What felt like the end of one chapter was really the beginning of another. The years I spent in law taught me to listen deeply, weigh words carefully, and discern truth — skills God has now repurposed for coaching, teaching, and ministry.

Ephesians 2:10 reminds us: “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” That means every skill, every experience, and even every disappointment has a place in His design. He doesn’t waste a thing.

Maybe you’re standing in the middle of a plan that doesn’t match your purpose. Maybe what you envisioned for your life looks very different from where you are now. Don’t despair. Your identity is not found in your role, your title, or your season. Your identity is found in Christ, and His purpose for you remains unchangeable.

Your assignment may change, but your purpose never will. When plans fall apart or shift into something unexpected, it’s not a sign that God is finished with you. It may be the very place where He’s preparing you for a new chapter that better reflects who He’s made you to be.

So, if you find yourself asking, “What now?” lean into the truth that God already knows. His plans are filled with hope. His future for you is secure. And His purpose for your life is unshakable.

How to Hold Both Grief and Gratitude

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When the alarm goes off these days, I often wake from the same dream — rushing to toast a bagel for my youngest child before school. But in that same instant, I realize I don’t have to toast the bagels anymore. My husband and I are now empty nesters, our child far away at university. In that moment, the panic of oversleeping quickly turns into a sigh that intersperses longing for her presence with gratitude for the blessings in her life.

I don’t jump out of bed but lie there breathing, repeating to myself, “This is the day that the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Every day is a gift from God, and this season, more than any, has reminded me of His goodness. Some days I feel like a scratched record stuck on loop. But God is faithful. And, like Moses reminding Israel of God’s faithfulness, I remind myself multiple times a day.

I always knew empty nesting would be hard — my identity had been wrapped up in being a mother for most of my life. After stopping work to stay home, my schedule revolved around drop-offs, PTA meetings, sports, and a million other things that keep mothers insanely busy. As the children grew, I began looking for ways to utilize talents that had been dormant for years, wanting to define an identity shaped by motherhood while sharpening skills I knew were deep within me.

The days after moving our child into college were hard. The house was unbearably silent. We missed the pile of sneakers at the garage door and the scattered snack bowls. Everything was clean and orderly, and going upstairs was heartwrenching. I found myself drinking from her Stanley cup and using her lip balm — reminders of her presence. She was my little shadow, and the shadow had grown up.

Still, the days rolled on, and we practiced gratitude. We discovered new rhythms: unloading the dishwasher, running to the gym, weekend movies — all part of establishing routines not tied to the school calendar. Meeting new friends and having space for long conversations became part of new rhythms. The profound quiet wasn’t the enemy. I was learning to embrace a different pace that hadn’t existed in over two decades. The constant urgency was gone, and while initially jarring, it felt good to lean into this rhythm. I am discovering space for rest and reflection.

Healthy birds fly the nest, caring friends remind me. There is a bittersweet nature to raising children —you’re proud of who they’ve become while you grieve their departure, grateful yet sad. Every hair tie, tidy bed, and missed moment of not buying mini ice cream cones at Trader Joe’s brings a gulp to my throat.

But when the phone buzzes with texts about new friends, successful classes, or finding community at church, my heart fills with joy. I praise our good God who gives us strength to hold both extremes of emotion, who allows us to be sad while reminding us of bright moments.

Parenting refines us, drawing us closer to God if we allow it. It teaches us to surrender, give up control, and trust. When that chapter ends and a new one begins, we can grieve but continue stepping forward in faith, trusting that He is the author of all that is good.

I don’t toast the bagel every morning anymore, but I do empty the ice maker now. Our ice addict is no longer around. Still, hearing cubes fall into my cup brings a smile, knowing she’s probably doing the same thing on the other side of the country.


Listen to today’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast!

Do You Need to Experiment with Self-Care?

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As a young woman, I was forged in the fire of productivity and achievement. In the 90s and early 2000s, when I was married and raising kids, hustle culture was king. Back then, if I wasn’t exhausted, then I believed I wasn’t working hard enough. Likewise, if I didn’t stay up far past my bedtime to finish my to-do list, then could I even call myself a good wife or mother? For years, I made an Olympic sport out of setting myself on fire to keep everything else warm. Back then, I believed self-care — like a nap or a good night’s sleep — had to be earned.

Fast forward three decades as a single-again, empty nester, and I’ve embarked upon the wild adventure of re-designing my life. Part of this new journey has been revisiting a question I began asking myself over fifteen years ago when I realized that self-care wasn’t selfish:

How do I care for myself to the glory of God, to be a benefit to others and a blessing to myself?

Over the past two decades, I’ve learned that if I don’t take care of myself, then no one else will. Also, since God takes care of me, I have permission to take care of myself.

Six months ago, I added a new lesson: When I’m too comfortable, I’m more likely to neglect self-care.

It’s our human condition to both crave comfort and for comfort to betray us. When we’re too comfortable, we can lose our sense of the need for God. For me, I’d fallen into a rut of eating the same things and participating in the same workouts. I was present, but not engaged. Comfort can be good, but it can also become dangerous. When we’re feeling too comfortable, it reduces our need for God.

There’s a story in Daniel 1, where Jewish exiles Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were selected as fine specimens to serve in the service of their captor, King Nebuchadnezzar. The four young men, either related to Judah’s royal family or other noble families, were brought to live in the king’s housing.

Early on, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego recognized that the king’s food was too rich and heavy. Chances are, the other young men in the king’s training program welcomed the luxurious foods. But Daniel discerned that the king’s food would not bless his body nor his spiritual self.

Rather than go along to get along, Daniel approached the chief of staff to request permission for an experiment:

“Please test us for ten days on a diet of vegetables and water. At the end of the ten days, see how we look compared to the other young men who are eating the king’s food. Then make your decision in light of what you see.”
Daniel‬ ‭1‬:‭12-13‬ ‭NLT‬‬

At the end of this experiment, Daniel and the three other Jewish young men looked healthier than the other men who’d eaten the king’s rich food and wine.

What I appreciate about this story is that Daniel took a risk and asked to try something good, but different than what was being done. In his shrewdness, he didn’t ask for a complete lifestyle change, but rather a simple first step. 

Though I’m not facing Daniel’s pressures, I love how his story reminds me that transformation doesn’t have to start big. It can begin with one small, intentional act of obedience and trust. This approach resonates with me. Too often, we fear the challenge of self-care because we think we must change everything at once.

Let’s leverage the power of small steps! What if there was one small healthy change you could make for ten days?

What if you tried one of the following for ten days:

  • Taking a walk once a day
  • Reading your Bible for five minutes
  • Drinking an extra glass of water
  • Going to bed an hour earlier
  • Journaling five things you’re grateful for
  • Eating an extra vegetable a day

Which one appeals to you? These may not seem like much, but one change can spark a fire in your transformative journey. My self-care journey began over twenty years ago with putting on one pair of earrings each day. That’s what God used to bring me along on that life-transforming journey slowly. He can do the same for you!

Again, you only need to pick one. Many of us feel overwhelmed by everything in our lives, so don’t stress yourself by overdoing a launch into self-care. It’s small changes that become the stepping stones to long-term change.

Over the years, God has taught me that caring for myself isn’t about chasing perfection or proving my worth. It’s about honoring the body and life He’s entrusted to me. What once drove me to exhaustion — my need to please, to produce, to prove — no longer holds power over me. God never asked us to burn out. He invites us to burn bright.

Self-care isn’t selfish; it’s sacred. It’s how we remember that our worth isn’t earned through exhaustion but anchored in God’s love. When we honor Him by caring for ourselves, we make space for His strength to shine through our surrendered lives.

Barb loves equipping women to win their battle with stress and overwhelm in her Bible study, Stronger Than Stress: Developing 10 Spiritual Practices to Win the Battle of Stress and Overwhelm.

Plug In to His Voice

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I sing with the small praise band at my church, and I love it. I’m not the best singer solo, but with my husband leading beside me on guitar and vocals, I fall into my sweet spot and layer in harmonies. I love looking into the sanctuary and seeing dear friends all worshipping, my kids sitting (hopefully) in the back row with my beloved mom, and my husband at my side. It’s a wonder we’re all in a church building together at all, and not a week goes by that I don’t whisper thanks to the One who mends wounds and stitches hearts and gathers us all in with welcome and grace.

Last night our little band was rehearsing for Sunday. This week’s musicians include our director singing and playing piano, three other singers (one of them on guitar), a drummer, and a bass player. To hear ourselves and one another clearly, we use several monitors placed in front of each musician or group. When connected to the system, these monitors play the combined audio from all the vocal and instrument microphones.

As I’m singing at rehearsal, I notice I can’t hear my vocals in the monitor nearest me. I can’t hear my husband’s guitar. I’m not hearing any other vocals either. We stop playing, and the director goes back to the sound booth to adjust the monitor and mic levels. We all think it’s better, and we start again. But still, I can’t hear anything out of my monitor!

However, I am convinced that since everyone else seems fine, the problem must be me. I bend down and put my ear nearly on the monitor, straining to hear, and finally ask to pause again.

That’s when I notice… the blue plug lying on the floor. The monitor isn’t even plugged in!

We all have a good laugh, plug it in, adjust the sound levels, and what do you know – I can hear it all now! Everything is clearer. Everything is easier to follow.

And then I wonder why I doubted myself in the first place. Why I scoffed a little at needing the volume turned up when no one else did. Why, in the back of my mind, I told myself I was causing trouble and should just keep it to myself because obviously I was the only one who couldn’t hear from that monitor.

When all along, it wasn’t me; the thing wasn’t even plugged in.

Do you ever do this? Doubt yourself when you were right all along? It’s a subtle kind of self-gaslighting — when we dismiss our own awareness, our gut instincts, our God-given discernment.

Maybe you haven’t experienced this with a praise band and unplugged monitor, but in other ways. Maybe it’s a nagging medical issue, barely enough to inconvenience you but persisting anyway, and sure enough, there’s a concern. Maybe it’s a gut feeling that your family’s spending habits need to change, and sure enough, a big bill comes due. Or a church that just isn’t a good fit, and sure enough, you find another place that feels like home. Or a person who has always been around, who has always made you feel uncomfortable or unhappy, and sure enough, you learn they’re not worthy of your trust.

We second-guess ourselves because it feels safer, easier even, to assume we’re the problem rather than facing what might really be happening. But sometimes, that quiet sense in our soul isn’t suspicion or anxiety — it’s God’s Spirit, whispering truth and guidance right where and when we need it.

In our church, we have a saying for volunteer projects: God’s work, our hands. It means God is using our hands to do His good work as we clean, feed, clothe, support, and love. God uses us — and the things of this world — to speak His love and to speak to our hearts.

God spoke to Moses in a bush aflame and to Elijah in a still, small voice.
Noah followed his heart and picked up a hammer.
God used pillars of fire and cloud to guide, and salt to care.
Rahab listened to her gut and saved her whole family.

And Jesus, who was fully God, also became fully man. He regularly used earthly items to illustrate His stories and make miracles: pigs, mud, wine, water, dirt, spit, fish, bread… and people.

God’s voice doesn’t always sound like we thought it would. Three times, Samuel thought Eli was calling to him, when what he was actually hearing was the voice of the Lord.

So how often do we ignore that still, small voice in our hearts? When have we mistaken God’s voice for another’s? How often do we turn away from the bush ablaze? When have we missed the pillars of fire and cloud, and instead turned to the internet for guidance? How many times have we not trusted our gut feelings? When have we thought we were the problem — only to find the speaker unplugged?

Oh, we can get it so very wrong.

But the good news is that God still speaks right to our hearts with the very stuff of our lives. He uses our instincts, our questions, our longing, our everyday surroundings to reach us.

So check to see if the monitor is plugged in. Look at the bush on fire. Stare directly into the pillar of cloud leading the way, no matter how thick the fog gets. Keep an ear wide open for that still, small voice.

Don’t doubt yourself. God is speaking loud and clear.

The Spiritual Practice of Pondering

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It is 7 o’clock in the morning. I am parked in the car, rain pounding on the roof. One thousand cars pass me by and sirens wail without end — a tell-tale sign I’m in The City That Never Sleeps.

It is Sunday and I am with my kids. We have a sliver of time before the next thing. And, yes, I’m already thinking about the next thing after the next thing. This is my usual pattern. My mind rolls relentlessly. Like a book, bound with one billion pages. Like a to-do list, stamped with never-ending bullets. Like a calendar, an infinite grid with no end in sight.

Call it what you will. Mom brain. Executive function. Strategy. Stress. Survivor mentality. Being on top of things. Being human. Even as a young girl, I always existed more inside my head than in reality. I thought thoughts, planned plans, penned poems, and dreamed dreams — always thinking, always wondering, always pondering, always the metaphorical gears grinding.

But this morning, in the middle of my thinking about the next thing after the next thing, a pivotal thought came to me like light breaking through a dark cloud. Instead of wondering about what I am to do next, what if I welcomed the invitation to wonder: What is God doing now?

You see, I’m coming to find that there is a very thin line between wonder and worry. Inherently, they are not the same. But, seemingly inevitably, wonder without boundaries bleeds into worry. And I confess, this is the headspace heartspace I’ve found myself in lately. All my wonder is warped; most all my thoughts have turned and twisted into the scary shapes you see at night.

In this sobering but sacred moment, I’ve been reminded that no amount of my doing, or attempted undoings, can fix the fears, figure out the future, control the outcomes, stop the stress, halt the hurry, or wash away the worry. I am reminded, there is but one balm for the anxious mind; there is only one cure for the worried heart:

“That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord.”
Psalm 27:4 NIV

To dwell in the house of the Lord. To sit in the Lord’s presence. To assign my attention to the Lord, my affection to the Lord, my wondering and pondering all to the Lord. That is the cure, the spiritual practice that will bring peace to my soul.

I am a work in progress, still learning how to put down my propensity to plan and plot and ponder my way through life. I am still learning how reroute my rumination to reflect on God’s promises, still learning how to let myself wonder without giving way to worry. And, I don’t know what fears fill your head, or the thoughts that keep you up at night. I don’t know about the worries that rise to the surface in the sliver of moments when quiet comes to your door. I don’t know all the ways in which your pondering gives way to the kind of wonder that winds you deep into worry. But I do know this:

Instead of pondering the problems of life, we can ponder the beauty of the Lord. Instead of pondering our perfectly plotted plans, we can ponder the goodness of the Lord.

Instead of retreating to our minds and rehearsing our fears, schedules, needs, dreams, and intentions, we can turn our thoughts to the Lord our God, our strength, our refuge, our ever-present help. Instead of being overwhelmed with anxiety, we can be overcome with astonishment of God’s beauty, goodness, wonder, and light.

Here are a few reminders to help us all do just that:

  • You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you. Isaiah 26:3
  • Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. Psalm 46:10
  • Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. Colossians 3:2
  • I meditate on your precepts and consider your ways. Psalm 119:15
  • One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple. Psalm 27:4-5
  • Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Friends — I want to hold space for your story. Comment below and share how today’s article spoke to your pondering heart. I’d love to speak encouragement and peace over you.

 

 

The Voice That Makes Us Want to Listen

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My youngest daughter isn’t a big reader, but she loves audiobooks — and, for now, she still enjoys listening with me. As a lifelong book nerd, I’ve happily embraced this, and lately we’ve been working through one of my favorite series.

When the eighth book finally came in from the library, we couldn’t hit play fast enough. But the moment the narrator started, we both groaned. The voice had changed! We’d loved the previous narrator, but this one… not so much.

Ever since, it’s been a slog to get through a story we were so eager to hear. When I asked my daughter if she was tired of the series, she shook her head. “No, it’s the narrator’s voice,” she said. “I want to hear the story — but not from him.”

It made me realize how much the voice of a story matters, and how often the way something is said determines whether we want to keep listening.

When I use my “mom voice” to lecture my oldest daughter about responsibility, again, she tunes me right out. But when her youth group leader speaks gently about how important it is for young adults to learn and demonstrate responsibility with chores and grades and relationships, well, she’s maybe not all ears but she’s considerably more receptive.

When the parents at my library’s storytime tell their toddlers to start picking up toys, they’re often met with resistance (or simply ignored). But as the librarian, when I hit play on our clean-up song (the one I play at the end of every single storytime) and say in my “Miss Mary voice” that it’s time to clean up, many of those same kiddos automatically begin putting away the cars, blocks, and pretend food.

When I come across a social media video of someone screaming or sneering about how obviously wrong the other side is (of whatever debate it might be), I almost always keep on scrolling. But when I find someone explaining their perspective calmly or – my preference – addressing the issue with humor or music, I’m a whole lot more likely to listen and perhaps even learn.

I’m sure you’ve noticed this too (it’s hard to miss). In today’s heated environment, it seems as if all we do is yell at one another – in comments and group chats, on bleachers and pews, from every platform we can climb onto and with every megaphone we can get our hands on. We talk fast and furious, determined to get our point out, even if doing it that way will never get our point across. We point fingers and list offenses; we take hits and get offended.

Scripture is full of reminders that this is not what God desires for us. Proverbs, in particular, points out how using harsh, hateful, or otherwise undesirable words is foolish and bound to end badly.

“A gentle answer deflects anger,
but harsh words make tempers flare.”
Proverbs 15:1 NLT

“Spouting off before listening to the facts
is both shameful and foolish.”
Proverbs 18:13 NLT

This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak up. We’re surrounded by issues that absolutely require our passion, situations that demand our intervention, and people who are in desperate need of our defense. But sometimes the voices we use to do this good work keep us from doing any good at all.

To be clear, I struggle with this myself. I’m flippant in an effort to protect the heart that feels deeply. I’m furious and rage against every machine within reach. I’m sarcastic when a calm mind and thoughtful words fail me. My intentions are pure, but my delivery cancels out any benefit my words might have. I’ve spoken truth but without love or even kindness, and like that proverb promised, I’ve been shameful and foolish.

Maybe you can relate? Have you struggled to keep an open mind when someone shouted their message or used hurtful language or an offensive tone? Have you lashed out in anger fueled by zeal for what you were sure the other person had to learn or understand? Have you grieved the lack of civil conversation in so many areas of our lives right now?

It can feel impossible to change — either ourselves or others — when harsh and hateful speech seems to be the language of our times. But just as my daughter longed to hear a good story told by the right voice, the world is aching to hear truth spoken in a way that invites them in rather than tuning them out.

Paul gives us a roadmap for how to do this in his letter to the believers in Ephesus:

“Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them. Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”
Ephesians 4:29, 31-32 NLT

Will you join me in meditating on these words?

Let everything you say be good and helpful.
Let your words be an encouragement.
Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander.

The voice matters. The tone matters. The way we speak can make the difference between someone leaning in to listen or shutting down completely. We can’t control how others speak, but we can choose how we do.

So let’s be people whose words sound like grace — voices that carry the truth in kindness, that tell the story of God’s love in a way the world actually wants to hear.