An Invitation to the Last Supper

An Invitation to the Last Supper

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For years, I’d confess and re-confess past sins in prayer.

I felt lonely with old secrets, my pillow haunted by foolish things I did or said ten years prior. I reviewed my failures like a rolodex while I scrubbed dishes or washed my hair. Deep down, I felt unlikeable. I dreamed of feeling beautiful, known and cherished. But I allowed my past mistakes to bar me from believing that I was already all these things and more. So, I buried my longings and pressed on.  

In 2021, my Bible reading plan brought me to the Last Supper. I’d read the passage before . . . but, this time, I sensed God inviting me to take a closer look at the story of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet.  

I knew the disciples walked to dinner in sandals on dusty, dung-dotted streets. Surely, their dirty feet kept them from fully relaxing at the table with Jesus and with one another. As I pondered this, it prompted me to think of all the ways my shame keeps me from resting with God and friends.

When Jesus washed his friends’ feet, He did not say, “Let’s talk about this dirty water.” He didn’t make the dirt the centerpiece on the table; He didn’t lecture them about it. No. He probably dumped the dirty water out the window! That done, He could talk with them about all the other things that He was so eager to share with them.  

During supper, Jesus encouraged the disciples — He told them secrets, made incredible promises, gave them instructions, comforted them and simply dined with them. He did all of this because He loved them. The first thing He said when He sat down with his friends was, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you.” In Greek, this can literally be translated to, “I have been longing with longing to eat this Passover with you.”

As I opened my journal, I sensed Jesus saying the same to me. I wrote:

“Heather, I have been longing with longing to spend this time with you, to encourage you and teach you, to tell you my secrets and simply be with you, because I love you.”

I imagined sitting at a lunch table with Jesus and finally embracing Him as the one who formed my inward parts, the one who knows my anxious thoughts. I saw Him for who He’s always been and how He chose my gifts and talents, seeing beyond all my past sins and future endeavors. I pictured Him looking kindly into my face, eager to forgive all and encourage my longing heart. As I thought about all these things, I came to find that this was not a scary table to sit at — it was a no-defenses, restful place to sit . . . being fully known and fully loved by the God of the universe.  

I knew there were depths I had not plumbed with God and levels I had not yet experienced in community, all because I was consumed with staring at my dirty water basin instead of letting Jesus dump it out. My sin kept me from believing in the grace God had already graciously gifted me. So in my journal, I made a bullet point list of the sins and mistakes that still felt caked on me. As I wrote, the Holy Spirit brought to my mind many things I carried shame about. I repented of the fresh ones and sloughed off the old ones, many from childhood. Then, once they were all in front of me like a muddy water basin, I pictured Jesus dumping them down the gutter! As they went, I crossed them off my list, one at a time and thanking God.

Immediately, I felt a free-spiritedness and a soul-deep rest — a rest that I had not felt in so long and that has not gone away since.  

Maybe shame keeps you from leaning in at the table, too? That’s a ploy of the enemy, you know? Satan tempts us to sin, then drags us down, accusing us and terrorizing us with guilt. He wields shame to hold us back from the union with God that Christ offers.

But, Jesus is longing with longing to be very near you. Your whole lifelong He has been sitting at the cafeteria lunch table, leaning forward on His elbows, enamored with you. He wants to tilt your chin up and say, “You are beautiful. I love what you do. I really like you.” He wants to encourage you and comfort you and teach you and tell you His secrets. 

So, read Luke 22:7-15 and John 13:1-17 and imagine yourself reclining at the table. Invite Jesus with you as you make a list of the things you carry shame about. Then, watch Him wash them off . . . one at a time.

Digging Out When You Feel Buried

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I opened the blinds in my family room to see more than a foot of fresh snow covering the landscape outside our windows. Large, wet flakes continued falling thick and fast, determined to blanket everything.

It took my breath, the beauty of it.

Of course, seconds later, reality dampened my wonder. That blanket of twelve-inch snow would need to be removed one shovel-full at a time before the day’s end, including our driveway, front walkway, and back patio. It would be no easy feat, requiring an hour or two of back-breaking labor.

Even so, I felt the beauty drawing me outside. It needed to be experienced, not just witnessed.

After lacing up my snow boots, digging out my beanie and gloves, and slipping into my winter coat, I walked out the back door and got to work. Although the temperature hovered around the freezing mark, I didn’t feel cold. Instead, I felt inspired, energized, and in awe. It wasn’t easy work, as the snow was dense and heavy, but while I cleared the back patio, my husband tackled our very long driveway. And the combination of beauty and togetherness made the chore enjoyable.

Less than an hour later, I moved to the front walkway. Although tired and thoroughly drenched from the ongoing snowfall, I still savored being outdoors in the middle of it all. Until halfway through when another family member joined my husband and me in our snow-removal efforts. Without disclosing identities, I can tell you this:

They did not want to be shoveling snow. And they wanted to be sure I knew about it.

“This is so dumb.”

“Ugh, the snow is so heavy!”

“How long do I have to be out here?”

“I’m cold.”

“My hands hurt.”

“My back hurts.”

“Can I go in now?”

With each shovelful, I heard another complaint. To be honest, they weren’t wrong. The snow was heavy. The air was cold. Scoop, complain, scoop, whine. Do you know what happened?

With each new complaint, my fellow shoveler grew less effective at snow removal. It was as if their words impacted their ability to do the work. It was taking them twice as long to do half the work. It appeared speech impacted strength.

But do you know what else I noticed? Their words started to impact my strength, too. I grew more weary, more cold, and more defeated. What had been a joy became a painful drudgery. What had once held beauty became nothing but a burden.

“From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled;
with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied.

The tongue has the power of life and death,
and those who love it will eat its fruit.”
Proverbs 18:20-21 NIV

Before you think I’m picking on one of my family members, I could provide multiple examples in which I played the complaining character. I’m a woman of many words, too many words sometimes. It’s not uncommon for me to say exactly what I think and feel at any given minute, even if it isn’t helpful.

But on the day of that snowstorm, I learned two eye-opening (and heart-humbling) lessons:

  1. Words hold the power of life and death for the person who says them. 
  2. Words hold the power of life and death for the person who hears them.

Our words impact our ability to do hard things. And our words impact the ability of other people to do hard things. Yes, there are moments when we must speak the truth about the hard thing out loud. I’m afraid. This is hard. My heart aches. But if complaints dominate our conversation, the hard thing becomes the only thing. And any power we might gain from the Spirit within us gets swallowed up by a lesser voice.

Yes, our stories are heavy and overwhelming. Yes, at times we feel cold and alone. That’s the truth. But it isn’t the only truth. There is a bigger Truth, a stronger Truth, one that can help us dig out of any storm:

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life.'” (John 14:6 NIV)

“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” (John 14:18 NIV)

“Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20 NIV)

Now that’s a good word. Let’s make sure those are the words that get the most airtime. No matter the size of the storm.

 

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

God of the Harbor

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I live in New England near America’s oldest seaport. It’s a city known for venturing out to sea, and the local high school mascot is the Fishermen. When the winds pick up, the causeway floods as the tide rises and we ride it out, taking detours on the flooded roads and then cleaning up what we can. This area is at the mercy of the ocean air and saltiness that corrodes. But perhaps one of the most striking features of our corner of New England is the Fisherman’s Memorial.

It is a copper statue that has turned green over the years and depicts a Gloucester fisherman with his hands on the steering wheel of a ship. He looks with pensive eyes out over the harbor, determined and focused.

When I stand in front of the Fisherman’s Memorial, I feel the intensity as I hear the waves crashing against the walls. When the king tide comes in, the water floods over the edge, seaweed wrapping around the railings that keep passersby from falling into the waves. The Gloucester fisherman stands in front of plaques with thousands of names that date back to the 1600s. Over 10,000 men have died at sea after leaving Gloucester. In fact, in one stretch, from 1860-1906, a staggering 660 ships sank.

This is a town that understands the weight of losing to the sea.

Most famously in recent history, the Andrea Gail, an American commercial fishing vessel, was lost in 1991 during a Nor’Easter we called The Perfect Storm. A film was made that beautifully captured the area, reminding us of the heart of this industry that keeps a community afloat.

When I am driving past, I almost always stop for the memorial. I hop out of my car and feel the wind on my cheeks, turning them red. I trace my finger along the names on the memorial, wondering who they were and what they cared for most. As I turn back to face the fisherman, I look down at the base of his footing where a simple phrase is written: THEY THAT GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS.

It took me an embarrassing amount of time to figure out that this was a reference to Psalm 107. In this passage, various situations of need are mentioned and then the people cry out to God and are met with his help.

I wonder about the irony of living in a largely non-Christian environment that is represented by a statue that is based on our need for the divine. I suppose it anchors in me a hope that there is a deep, human need to cry out in moments of distress. To call to God when it feels like we’re drowning. To recognize our helplessness when the tide rises and the swells get too high.

In these seaside towns, we feel the weight of how very out of control we are. When the storms hit, we are at the mercy of the wind and water. When the temperatures drop, we watch it all freeze and crack. When the skies go red in the morning, we know the shift might not be in our favor.

Living in a community that is tied to the world around us reminds me that God is ever-present, ready to enter into the needs we have. We can call out to God — not only in our distress but in our day-to-day. Like those who go down to the sea in ships, who venture out of the safe harbor onto the open ocean where the safety of land is nowhere to be seen, there is a deep reliance in our blood. A reliance that watches the sky and listens to the wind, marveling at how intense God’s power is.

You may be landlocked, but the God of the sea is still your God.

You may have clear skies, but the God of stormy weather is still your God.

You may be in an uncomfortable season, but the God of comfort and hope is still your God.

Seasons come and go. Storms arrive and pass. What is today may not be tomorrow. But by God’s grace, like those who go down to the sea in ships, we will all arrive at the Harbor we’re hoping for.

 

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How to Find Strength in Surrender

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“I DO IT!”

Toddlers love declaring their newfound independence as they navigate the world. It’s a refrain heard countless times in households of young children everywhere, a small glimpse into the journey of self-discovery we all embark upon.

I’ll admit, I’ve caught myself echoing that sentiment more times than I can count – as an adult navigating the twists and turns of life. Something is appealing about the idea of doing things on our terms and proving our capabilities to the world.

But if I’m honest, my insistence on self-reliance has led me astray more than once.

I vividly recall a moment of reckoning with my stubborn insistence on doing it myself amidst the whirlwind of giving birth. Exhausted yet exhilarated, I found myself determined to handle anything motherhood threw my way.

After 24 hours of labor, I gazed in awe at the fresh new life I held in my arms. The nurses gently tapped me on my shoulder, telling me it was time to move from the delivery room to my private room. I scoffed at the wheelchair brought in by the nurses, happy to prove that I was strong enough to walk on my own.

But as I stood on trembling legs, reality came crashing down.

I didn’t shout, “I DO IT!” like my toddler son with the “New Big Brother” t-shirt at home did. But my actions said the same thing when I resolved to prove that I was capable and in control.

My knees buckled beneath me.

I couldn’t do it.

I needed someone to catch me. To offer support when my strength faltered.

That newborn is turning eleven soon. And as the years go by, I’m slowly embracing the profound (and sometimes painful) beauty of surrender — recognizing that true strength lies not in my own wobbly or wonderful abilities but in the unwavering promise that God will work within me and around me.

It’s a lesson that echoes throughout the pages of Scripture. Take the story of Abraham — a man whose faith defied logic and reason and who chose to hope against hope in the face of impossibility.

Romans 4:7-18 tells us that Abraham’s hope wasn’t rooted in his accomplishments but in God’s promise. Abraham’s example challenges us to relinquish our stubborn self-reliance and embrace the transformative power of divine grace.

It’s a perspective that challenges our stubborn self-reliance, inviting us to shift our focus from our strength (or lack thereof) and embrace the transformative power of God’s grace. 

What if we dared to replace our insistence on self-sufficiency with stubborn hope? 

What if we opened ourselves up to the infinite possibilities that lie in store when we place our hope outside of ourselves?

When we stop hinging our worth based on what we can (or can’t) do and instead place our hope in who God is, we might just discover that we don’t find true strength in our ability to go it alone but in our willingness to surrender to a grace greater than ourselves.

God didn’t work in Abraham’s life because Abraham had proven himself perfect and capable, solid and without need for help. Perhaps God worked in Abraham’s life specifically because it didn’t make sense – because God does what God does with open arms that invite us in.

And that is grace.

Imagine waking up in the morning and embracing a reality where your worth isn’t hinged on what you can (or can’t) do but on who God is — a life where you find solace in the comforting embrace of a loving Creator who journeys alongside you in every twist and turn of the journey, catching you and welcoming you into a bigger story with open arms.

Imagine a life where your “I DO IT!” is replaced with the loving whisper of God saying, “I will do it alongside you.”

When doubt creeps in and you need help holding onto hope like Abraham, may you find comfort in this simple prayer from Every Season Sacred:

“God of grace and mercy, help me to remember that I don’t have to toil, strive, or work for Your love — that You already call me beloved. Remind me that my identity is in You, not how much I can accomplish. Amen.”

As you surrender to the gentle rhythm of divine grace, may you uncover a strength that surpasses all understanding, born not of your efforts but of your hope against hope in the One who holds us with tenderness. Who lavishes grace that has nothing to do with what we can or can’t do and everything to do with God’s great compassion and desire to be with us.

As you navigate the complexities of life, may you find the courage to set aside your “I DO IT!” mentality and embrace the beauty of resting in the One who co-creates alongside you.

 

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How Are You Really Doing with the “Other Stuff”?

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A few weeks ago, I got sick with a fever that wouldn’t go away. On one of the worst nights of my sickness, I slipped away to the couch, so that my tossing and turning wouldn’t wake up my husband.

I tried ibuprofen. I tried Tylenol. I lit a fire in the fireplace. I tried cough drops and hot tea. And finally, the very last thing I tried was prayer.

I am not proud to say that prayer was my last line of offense.

I know I’m not alone in this. Sometimes, we don’t pray because we overestimate our self-sufficiency. Other times, we undervalue God’s concern to tend to the little things in our lives.

It goes like this:

We tend to grade matters by their seeming significance. Grade-A Matters are things like war, injustice, kids with cancer, and failing marriages. Those things are important and deserve our attention with prayer. But the truth is, even when the world at large is suffering, we’ve all got something going on – right this very second. And it all matters to God, even the things you think are Grade-D Matters.

Know this: God’s hands are large enough to hold all the Grade-D Matters – the late-night fevers, your concerns over your kids’ grades, that plumbing problem in the basement, or the fact that your friend hasn’t returned your texts.

So I have a question for you: How are you really doing right now with “the other stuff” going on in your life, the Grade-D Matters?

When something big happens in our world or our community, we tend to minimize “the other stuff.” We don’t want to burden our friends, or God, by letting them know what else hurts right now.

I’ve said it before, but there have been times in my life when I’ve been reluctant to share with my Bible study girls about an emotional struggle because someone else was just diagnosed with cancer. I categorized my pain as Grade-D, and hers as Grade-A.

I’ll tell myself things like, “I shouldn’t be this sad or worried. It could be worse.”

It’s also possible that you’ve been the victim of the “my life is harder than yours” game. It happens when you share your hard, but according to someone else, it isn’t hard enough compared to what they’re going through.

We do ourselves a disservice as sisters when we track each other’s pain along a scale, as if it can be easily categorized along one of those smiley-face charts on a doctor’s office wall.

Here’s the thing: God doesn’t stop caring about your “other stuff” just because other people, this nation, and this world are walking through really big trials. Hard things in other people’s lives do not negate the pain you are carrying personally:

With your finances.
With your baby’s erratic sleep schedule.
With your anxiety.
With the disagreement you had with your dad.
With the pressure of those deadlines.
With your ANYTHING.

Recently, I read Paul’s second letter to his buddy Timothy. He spends most of the letter writing about the big stuff: godlessness in the last days, suffering for the gospel, sound preaching. And then, toward the end, he gives Timothy a final instruction: “Bring the cloak that I left… also the books, and above all the parchments” (2 Timothy 4:13, ESV).

It’s the cloak that gets me.

At this point in the biblical narrative, Paul was an older fellow getting close to dying while locked up in a cold prison — and his only coat was many miles away.

I don’t know why that bit about the cloak is in there, but I do believe that Scripture is God-breathed, and that every word is there for a reason — even the hardest and weirdest parts of the Bible. Every word has something to teach us about God or ourselves.

I wonder if that tiny sentence about the cloak is one way that God is letting us know that the little things matter. Little things like coats, new tires for your car, your class schedule, your job, and a fever that won’t let up.

God is big enough to care about the little things.

Nothing is too big for our Lord. And nothing is too small either.

 

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Truth for Your Heart When It Feels Like Your Life Is Falling Apart

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I used to write songs as a way of soothing my soul’s sorrow. I would write the words my heart needed to hear, the words that I hoped God would say if He were sitting across from me at a café, drinking His coffee or whatever herbal tea He likes best. But, these days, writing songs doesn’t come easy. My kids call me constantly, my voice isn’t as strong as it used to be, dreams are falling apart, and life shouts demands with its to-dos and to-bes.

In this waiting, in this season of silence and seeking and shattering, it feels like everything is slowly falling apart. The routines and structures that once held me together have altogether come undone. Direction disorients and vision evades me. 

Life, as I know it, is changing. And rightfully so. My children are growing — they are hungry for food and desperate to learn more, live more. My body is broken and needs new ways of holding all that I am and healing. Our house, the borrowed walls that we call home, is two sizes too small to carry the developing story that my family is becoming.

We spin through the days bursting out of the seams, spilling wild and wide out of the containers that once held us. And it is messy, and there are no baskets or tidy corners to keep things as they should be, and we are in this limbo, this thin in-between, and we are so desperate to hear the Spirit say that all of this change is good.

That everything and everyone will be okay.

All I want for this thin in-between, this space of figuring things out, is to know that I am not failing my kids. I desperately want to know and believe that the things dying off are not causing destruction, that God is in all of this — every newly paved path and lost dream.

I abide, seeking out a single word, a single scripture verse to cling to. But then, a familiar melody comes to mind. A simple refrain that I wrote years back:

When you fall apart, you are falling into grace,
Can’t you see, how He holds us up, how He holds us into place?

The lyrics linger in my mind, and I try to think back to when and why I wrote this song. Try as I may, I cannot recall the season of life that I was in. However, this I can recall: it really is true. God holds us up, and He also holds us into place. He does this, even when all that we know shatters in and around us. Even while we are falling apart, we are falling into grace. Even while life is crumbling in ways that we cannot comprehend or control, His love for us still proves to be all that we need.

He holds us when we are in the deepest abyss where it is dark and the path before us is unknown and unseen. He holds us when we are afraid and unsure of where our next paycheck will come from. There is nothing too broken, nothing too beyond fixing for His hands. There isn’t a puzzle that cannot be put back together in and through His power. There is nothing too heavy for His heart; there is nothing too hard for Him to work out with His holy plan.

There is no depth too deep, no spiraling or shattering that will separate us from His loving hands. There is no circumstance too confusing, no pantry that He cannot fill with His provision, no broken body that He does not see, no song He cannot sustain with grace. . . through community, through His word, through thanksgiving, through miracles, through mundane moments, through His holy hands at work in and through our lives.

This is one song we can always be sure to sing — He will hold us up and He will hold our lives into place. No matter what shatters, no matter what surrounds us, He is good and He will ever guide us into His goodness.

 

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Step into the Future Knowing This

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Moses said to the Lord, “Look, you have told me, ‘Lead this people up,’ but you have not let me know whom you will send with me. You said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found favor with me.’ Now if I have indeed found favor with you, please teach me your ways, and I will know you, so that I may find favor with you. Now consider that this nation is your people.”

And he replied, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”
Exodus 33:12-14 CSB

God tasks Moses with leading the people of Isreal out of Egypt where they were slaves and into the Promised Land where they will flourish. But Moses has all kinds of reasons why he isn’t the guy for the job. He’s not an eloquent speaker. He hasn’t assembled a strong leadership team. He doesn’t know where he will go or if the people will even want to follow.

But most of all, Moses is concerned about being alone. He knows the job is too much for him and he wants assurance that God will provide some help.

And how does God respond? “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”

What in your life today feels too much, too overwhelming for you?

Where do you feel called but underequipped?

Where are you afraid, overworked, or discouraged?

Tell God how you feel. Tell Him all about your impossible situation.

Then ask HIM to tell YOU all about your impossible situation.

God’s perspective will always trump our fears. His presence will always supersede our limitations. 

We can rest in Him.

 

 

The Fear of the Lord Is the Beginning of Freedom

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For three and a half months I felt like a balloon had swelled in my belly. Sometimes, sharp jolts would move through my colon and fold me over, my breath catching in my throat and my eyes widening in pain. It was the dead of summer in California’s Central Valley where temps often reach well over 105 degrees . . . and I couldn’t even put on a swimsuit, let alone button my jeans. 

Then finally, it had a name: Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS). 

If you’ve ever experienced a digestive disorder like IBS, then you know it knocks the breath right out of you. When I’m in a season where I’m experiencing an IBS flare (like I was for those three and a half months), it can be all I think about: the planning around meals, the invitations to lunch or dinner with friends, the sudden need to go to the bathroom, or taking triple the time to figure out what to wear because I can’t fit into anything. 

Sometimes, I hear whispers in my heart telling me how much I hate my body, and it takes the breath right out of me. . .

“What do I need to do? How do I manage this?” I desperately asked my doctor after she delivered the diagnosis.  

“You need to limit the amount of stress in your life,” she replied.  

I was at a loss. I thought I’d done everything right — I was in therapy, I’d set the appropriate relational boundaries, I started doing Pilates and breath work, I nourished my body, removed the irritating foods, watched my caffeine intake, prayed, read my Bible, and went to church.  

What else was I supposed to do? 

“That means I’ll have to quit my job.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could even think about them.  

Quit my job? But my job’s not stressful. And where else can I go? This is all I know. 

It was a fight with denial and pride to realize the effect my job was having on my body. I’m a chronic minimizer and a lifelong church kid. I learned that we’re to “crucify our flesh” and make our bodies our slaves for the sake of our cause.  

But it wasn’t true that my job wasn’t stressful. I drove home in tears, knowing in my gut that the time to leave this job was coming. After the IBS diagnosis, I heard author Annie F. Downs say on her Instagram that she’d asked God to remove everything that was “sick or secret” from her life. Surprise and a sob welled up in my throat as I listened. 

Me too, God. Please, I want everything sick and secret out of my life.  

I was done dealing with this sick body and tired of minimizing myself. I wanted the truth, and I wanted freedom. 

Mercifully, the Lord showed me the truth very quickly. I finally realized the environment I worked in was growing increasingly hostile. In time, the stress and anxiety in my gut would move to my chest, giving me chest pains every day I went to work for weeks on end. I found myself disassociating from my body just to get through the day, staring at my computer like a deer in headlights and unable to follow along in a conversation.  

But did I leave? No.  

I’ll leave as soon as I find another job, I promised myself and God.  

One month went by. Then two. Then three. Still, no job. And still, I was sick. Then, one day, in the middle of all of this, I read Psalm 147:10-11, and it came alive before me: 

“He is not impressed by the strength of a horse; he does not value the power of a warrior. The Lord values those who fear him, those who put their hope in his faithful love.”
Psalm 147:10-11 (CSB)

I sensed the Lord asking me, “Do you fear Me more than you fear leaving your job?”  

The question was so gentle, so kind. This gracious rebuke didn’t leave me feeling shamed or condemned, but resolved and confident in my God who was offering me His faithful love.  

“No,” I confessed. “I’ve feared everything else before I’ve feared You.”

It was a simple exchange of exposure, confession, and repentance. I didn’t even cry. But I sure felt fortified by it.

It wasn’t up to me to provide for myself or to fix what was going on at work. I didn’t have to muscle my way to find a job I would feel safe in, where I could heal and come alive again. There would be no ribbon or trophy for impressing God. Maybe I’d impress my parents, but not my God.  

Two days after this exchange with God, I resigned. No job lined up. At the time of this writing, I still don’t have a job. But in fearing this outrageously good and faithful God, I have found that, even if everything else fails, I still have Him.

I know relief in my body like I’ve never known — and I have a peace and hope that can only be found in God . . . the One who longs to show me His faithful love.

Simple Surrender Prayers for When You Need to Get Out of Your Own Way

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“I can’t take it anymore, God! Why aren’t you helping me?”

The weight of life squeezed out the last shred of belief that God cared about me. What looked like the end of my faith came in the form of a denial from my insurance company. I had noticed some developmental delays in my five-year-old child. Once my concerns were confirmed, I sprung into mama bear mode, clawing, roaring, and looking for the answers to save my precious cub. I learned about a diagnostic test that would provide the lifeline of information we needed. Yes! All of my tireless hard work was about to pay off.

When the coverage denial came a few weeks later, it felt like a bullet too close to my mama bear heart. I slumped on my kitchen floor, crying out, Why God? I’d prayed fervently for God to move the insurance company to approve that test. God must have seen how hard I’d worked to find a solution. All He had to do was move the insurance assessor to say yes. That disappointment turned into a tipping point in my faith. After years of being what I thought was a good Christian, I was disappointed that God didn’t answer my prayer. I wondered if faith was even worth it.

An uncomfortable a-ha moment surfaced when I realized that I’d been treating God like an employee in my problem-solving instead of letting Him lead. Instead of seeking God first before running around for answers, I figured out what I wanted to do and then I told God what I wanted Him to do.

My prayers were more about expecting God to finish my work instead of stopping to seek His will.

In my effort to control the situation, I lost sight of the power, character, and sovereignty of God. This verse is a powerful reminder that God isn’t like us and He doesn’t work like we do:

“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.”
Isaiah 55:8 (NLT)

Just as the people God spoke to in the above verse believed that following their own path was best, I’d done the same thing. They ended up in a bad place, and I did, too. My efforts to fix my problems didn’t bring me peace, only anxiety, anger, and what looked like the end of my faith. Yet, God’s words in Isaiah 55:8 are not only a declaration of God’s character, but also an invitation for those of us who’ve forgotten how big God truly is.

On that day on my kitchen floor, I uttered a new prayer that signified that I would remember that God was bigger than my biggest problems. It was a solid first step toward remembering that God was in control, and I was not:

“If it’s gonna get done, then God, You’re gonna have to do it.”

Years later, I’d come to realize that this was my first intentional act of surrender. Surrender isn’t a popular topic. Perhaps, because it’s often misunderstood. Surrender doesn’t mean that we’re giving in to hopelessness or defeat. Rather, surrender is giving over what we can’t control to God, who not only knows more than we do, but is bigger than we are and actually has control.

There’s a bonus: When we surrender, God will give us the gift of His peace.

Is there a problem or person that you need to surrender to God? It’s hard to admit that you are powerless, but it’s even harder to live with the fear and frustration of what you can’t control. If you need to take the first step, you can start with another simple Surrender Prayer: God, I can’t. But You can. So, I will let You.

There’s an interesting end to the story of the day I almost walked away from my faith: A few minutes after praying my surrender prayer, my phone rang. It was the administrative assistant from my child’s school who said, “Oh, I’m so glad that I got you. We wanted to let you know that you don’t need your insurance company to pay for your child’s test. There’s a fund at the school that pays for that kind of testing.” I hung up the phone in shock.

Of course, not every prayer is answered so quickly or in accordance with our desired outcome. But, as I reflect on God’s timing in answering that prayer, I believe He was saying to me, “Barb, if it’s gonna get done, I’m going to do it – and I don’t need your help.” In that gracious moment, God wanted me to be clear that He was bigger and more powerful than my biggest problem and I could trust Him.

Surrender doesn’t guarantee that God will answer instantly, nor does it mean that God will behave as you want. It does mean that you can trust God to be faithful, loving, and gracious, no matter the outcome.

 

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Life Doesn’t Have to Be a Battle

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My son and I fight a lot. It’s not easy to admit, but we see the world so differently. He is strong. I am not. He is outspoken. I am not. He is opinionated. I am opinionated. Since he came screaming out of me sixteen years ago, he’s been a fighter. After all this time, I’m weary.

In my weariness, I get defensive. I get angry. I want to demand my voice be heard. I want to make him see my point of view and why it’s right.

I tend to force things. I can be stubborn. I want what I want. I’ve spent a lot of my life “forcing” things. I’ve done this with jobs I wanted. I push and push and push because I’m afraid of not getting what I want. I’ve done this with things, opportunities, and people.

When I’m afraid, I force my way forward.

I’m reminded of so many figures in the Bible who forced things too. Sarah was afraid of not conceiving and forced her husband to sleep with her servant, Hagar. Moses used force, Judah used force, and Peter used force — all when they were faced with a fearful situation. But, when I react to my fear by forcing my way forward, I usually end up hurting myself or others.

Life doesn’t have to be a battle. We don’t have to fight to get ahead or fear falling behind. Instead, we can surrender. We can let go of life on our terms. As fear rises, we can refuse to put on our boxing gloves and instead lean on Jesus.

I usually deal with my fear by using my own strength. When I sense my soul tensing up for a fight, I’ve learned to listen to the invitation to relax. I can enter my fear with Jesus. Like a litany, I live these words: soul, be still.

Don’t force the doors of opportunity to open. Don’t force people to relate in ways that only work for you. Don’t push to get your way. Trust that the Lord is always present and will always lead you to love and be loved.

“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid.”
Isaiah 12:2 NIV

by Anjuli Paschall, as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

Our new book, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, will take you on a journey of learning to see God clearer and to know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles. As you experience pain, move through daily challenges, or get bogged down by anxieties big or small, you’ll learn to find Him right in the middle of it, ready to strengthen you and give you rest. 

In this beautiful book, you’ll find:

  • Relatable stories from all of your favorite (in)courage writers
  • 100 life-line Scriptures to recenter your focus
  • Journaling space to write your thoughts or prayers
  • A place to record how God is strengthening you every day!

It’s a devotional journal that will feel like sitting down with dearest friends and seeking God together in the middle of your mess or struggle.

Order your copy today; we cannot wait for you to read this book.

 

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

He Believed Her

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What was the most shocking, scandalous thing Jesus did?

Some would say Jesus was scandalous for pursuing the woman who’d bled for twelve years. At that time, in her condition, she was considered untouchable. Because being on her period made her unclean, anyone who came into contact with her would also be unclean.

Some would say it was the way Jesus honored her. He told her that it was her faith that healed her. He said that not only did He see her among the crowd, but also that she was worth healing.

But after going through some of my own health struggles as well as watching my friends endure health struggles, here is what stands out as one of the most shocking things that Jesus did for the bleeding woman:

He believed her.

And why is Jesus’ belief so shocking? Because in 2024, we still don’t believe women and their pain.

The Journal of the American Heart Association reported that women who visited emergency departments with chest pain waited twenty-nine percent longer than men to be evaluated for possible heart attacks.

Another study presented in the Journal of Women’s Health showed that middle-aged women with chest pain and other symptoms of heart disease were twice as likely to be diagnosed with a mental illness compared with men who had the same symptoms.

If this is where we stand with believing women and their pain today, think of how radical it was to believe a woman, especially with what we still weirdly call a “woman’s issue,” in Jesus’s day.

I’ll never forget going in for a procedure with my gynecologist and having to stop it because it hurt so much. The doctor assured me that it should not be painful and tried to keep going. I finally said that he had to stop. He didn’t believe me, and, equally importantly, he didn’t seem to care that I was in pain. I avoided going back to the doctor for years because I just couldn’t bear that misery again.

Over a year later, I went to a new doctor, practically in tears, and told her why I had gone so long without seeing anyone. I told her about my fear of the pain surrounding this procedure. Then she asked me, “Is there a reason you don’t want to be put under anesthesia for this?” I told her that I didn’t know anesthesia was an option.

Disgust flashed on her face when she realized the other doctor didn’t offer that as a solution. “I have a lot of patients who need to be under anesthesia during this procedure because it can be quite painful. Let’s get you scheduled.”

And now, I was crying for a different reason — this time, not out of fear, but out of relief that someone believed me.

And because she believed my pain, I knew that she saw me as more than a procedure to get off her books. She saw me as a human who shouldn’t have to suffer needlessly. She not only believed me, but she also cared for me.

I know that there are times I have not brought some of my pain to God because “It’s probably not that serious,” or “Others can probably handle this. Why can’t I?”

I hesitate to approach God because I can forget how much he cares for me and that He is not discounting my pain. Like I did with the gynecologist for too long, we keep our worries and deal with them ourselves.

But Peter assures us that we don’t have to deal with our pain and worries by ourselves: “Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you” (1 Peter 5:7 NLT).

It’s such a simple verse. Most of the time we’re told, “Don’t worry. You can trust God,” which, I’m not going to lie, feels very hollow when I’m in pain.

But there is a powerful addition to “trust God” in this verse: “For he cares about you.”

When you go to Him with your struggles and pain, He doesn’t think you’re exaggerating or being a drama queen, or just too emotional or hormonal. There are people in authority — doctors, parents, church leaders — who will sometimes fail. They will not believe you. They will not care for you in the way they should.

This is never, ever God.

He cares about your struggles.

He cares about your pain.

He cares about you.

And He believes you.

Want to read more about how Kathi has learned to give her worries to God in the mountains? Click here to check out Kathi’s book, The Accidental Homesteader.

 

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Welcoming Jesus into Your Heart and Home

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While they were traveling, He entered a village, and a woman named Martha welcomed Him into her home.
Luke 10:38 CSB

Don’t you just love a good dinner party?

After a warm invitation is extended and accepted, it’s time to pick out the menu and straighten up the home — fluff the pillows, sweep the floor, and set the table. Whether the meal is homemade or catered, it doesn’t matter. Because the most important part of the evening is simply when friends gather around the table and allow the conversation and laughter to flow as the night progresses.

Eventually, goodbyes are said at the door with promises to do it again soon. And even though we are left with a kitchen full of dirty dishes, we typically find that after opening our homes to others, our hearts are just as full as our stomachs.

Martha must have felt the same way when the time came for her to bid farewell to her cherished guests. As the head of the house that she shared with Mary and Lazarus, her sister and brother, Martha was certainly known for her hospitality in the village of Bethany. She was very much in charge and was willing to receive guests into her home, even if her guest of honor came traveling with a clan of twelve other men.

The gospel of Luke records that Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. She didn’t begrudgingly open the door for Him and His disciples. No. She wanted His presence to fill her home, and thus she swung wide open the door to host Him. As Jesus placed one holy foot and then another onto her property, did Martha feel the atmosphere shift? Could she feel the peace that only He provides permeate her home? Can you imagine what it must have felt like to welcome the Son of God into your home for a dinner party? I bet she never wanted to say goodbye to this special guest.

Perhaps the first time Martha opened her door to Jesus, she was curious to see if He truly was the Son of God, and perhaps you are wondering the same thing today.

In Revelation 3:20 (NLT), Jesus said, “Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear My voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.” Jesus gives each one of us the same invitation. He stands at the door of our hearts and knocks, but it’s up to us whether or not we open the door and welcome Him into our lives.

He will not force Himself through the door, but oh, how He wants to have dinner with us! He, too, loves a good dinner party and wants to bring His peace and salvation as He comes to reside and rest in our hearts. But the question is, will we let Him in? It’s only when we wholeheartedly welcome Him into our day-to-day routines that we will truly find rest.

Is Jesus knocking at the door of your heart? If you’re honest with yourself, have you let Him all the way in? Even into your messy kitchen? What is holding you back from opening your heart to Him all the way?

Let’s Pray:
Jesus, what a privilege it is to take this walk of faith with You. I ask You to come and meet me as I commit to walk alongside Mary, Martha, and You. Reveal to me things that are keeping me from resting in You, and make known to me anything that is hindering Your peace from resting on me. I give You permission to come into every aspect of my life. I open the door of my heart fully to You — even the messy parts that I would rather remain hidden. Teach me to embrace a lifestyle that is authentic and transparent, knowing that with You I can be the best version of myself if I am willing to let You in. Today I resolve to hold nothing back, knowing that You didn’t hold anything back from me whenever You came to die for my sins. I declare that You are the Son of God, and it is my greatest delight to have You in my heart and home. There is nothing better than having dinner with You as my Savior and Friend. You are so very welcome in this place. Amen.

—

Resting in Jesus: A 30-Day Walk with Mary and Martha is a devotional guide by April Rodgers on the art of letting go of daily chaos to find perfect peace in Christ.

When our phones are pinging, children are crying, emails are pouring in, and the refrigerator is empty, finding time to rest in Jesus can seem like a near-impossible task. If we aren’t being productive, we feel like missing out and falling behind. But Christ invites us to sit at His feet, especially during our daily chaos.

The example of Mary and Martha offers us a picture of how God understands not only what we’re going through, but where our priorities really need to be. Resting in Christ is not a luxury, it’s a necessity… and it informs everything else that we do. This devotional will guide readers on the journey to discovering the art of being still before God — and releasing their cares to the One who cares for them.

We know Resting in Jesus 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*!

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

 

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

 

*Giveaway open until 11:59 pm on 2/25/24 to US addresses only. Winners will be contacted via email.

God Will Not Walk Away

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Have you ever heard someone say, “I used to hate running, but I just kept going and now I love it!”?

That is not my story.

In January of 2022, I drove to my local trail, made sure the running app would sound an alert the very second I hit 1.00 miles, took a few deep breaths, and then . . . I ran.

I ran as fast as I could and I refused to stop, determined to see it through.

But this story goes back further, stretching to a December 2020 decision, the thread weaving through years and eventually finding its way to February 2024.

At the end of 2020, I set a daily step count goal for 2021 that felt, shall we say, daunting. Showing up for my people is a joy, but if I’m brutally honest, historically I struggle to show up for myself. The goal was doable, though. Difficult, but doable. Rain or shine, traveling for funerals or recovering from surgery, I didn’t miss a single day all year.

When 2021 came to a close and I wrote out unexpected gifts from the year, “walking” topped the list. The seemingly ordinary rhythm was actually so much more. It was a daily choice, a promise kept, an intentional showing up. Do I go for round two? I wondered. Or maybe I should set a new goal?

The idea arrived instantly and it sounded terrible: Run one mile fifty-two times in 2022.

For many, one mile is barely a warm-up. Again, that is not my story. My favorite thing about running is when it’s over. But it was the literal next step, a difficult but doable goal, one way that I could show up and choose hope right here in the body that I have – this broken, beautiful, strong body that struggles with a chronic health condition that impacts every single day.

Each week, I tied my tennis shoes and hit the pavement. Jordan Sparks sang “This is my now, I am living in the moment!” and I pumped my arms. Keala Settle belted ‘This Is Me’ from The Greatest Showman and I refrained from sing-shouting along as I counted the seconds.

Months later, I began another weekly rhythm: a new treatment that might turn things around, and heal what broke twelve years prior. I dared to get my hopes up and, for the first time, publicly shared part of the daily struggle.

By July, I knew it wasn’t working. By September, I knew it made things worse. Yet week after week, I ran while sweating and repeating, “One more step. Okay, now one more. I’m proud of you for showing up.”

Something in me needed to see that this breaking, hurting body could still show up with bravery for the next step and hope for tomorrow.

On December 16th, I ran mile fifty-two. I hit my fastest time, nearly four minutes less than where I began in January. I cried. I almost threw up. I could barely wipe the smile off my face.

Two rhythms wove their way through 2022, and I’m only sharing now to set the scene so this rings loud and clear:

No matter how broken or weary, worn down or disappointed or sad you feel . . .

Whether you recently crushed a goal or you feel like something is crushing you . . .

You are completely, absolutely, outrageously, fully loved. Just as you are, today, right now.

Yes, I’m proud of the girl who ran through 2022. She did what felt impossible, in a body that was breaking, and the running app tells the story. But more than that, I’m proud of the girl who ran exactly 0.0 miles in 2023. She kept showing up when her heart was broken, and she’s still here to see what story the next page will tell.

Maybe your 2024 is off to a great start. Maybe it’s February 19th and this year has already wiped you out. Or maybe you’re somewhere in between, taking small steps forward with hope and a heavy heart.

I don’t know what path you’re on — if you’re blazing a trail or if getting out of bed is today’s win — but I do know this: you are fully seen and fully loved right here, right now, no matter what.

Isaiah 40:31 makes this promise: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint” (NIV).

For years, the order confused me. But after the last few years, I’m comforted by this truth: God is not disappointed in our pace. He’s just as near when we take a step toward a goal as when we slowly walk the trails we used to run while tears run down, creating a trail of their own.

He’s here, present, strengthening us for the day even when that’s all we can face.

The road may stretch on, but God With Us will not walk away. One step at a time, He’ll bring us all the way Home.

If today’s post resonated and you’d like more encouragement, Kaitlyn’s book Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between will help you choose hope for tomorrow when today feels like a question mark.

 

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The List You Need to Set Your Mind on Today

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Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.
Colossians 3:2 CSB

What do you spend your time thinking about? Your answer is probably a long list of hopes and dreams, fleeting worries and deep concerns, hard and holy and mundane things.

Maybe today you’re thinking about how challenging parenting is or how desperate you are for a different career. Maybe your mind is spiraling with anxiety or you just feel numb with depression. Perhaps you’re focused on your new year goals, hoping that your hard work and planning will pay off in a particular way. Perhaps you can’t think of anything else but your physical pain.

Whatever is going through your mind today, Scripture calls us to set our minds on things above, not on earthly things.

This begs the question: What is above?

Heaven.
God’s full presence.
His power.
His throne room where He hears our prayers.
The Father’s house with many rooms, which He is preparing for us right now.
A place of healing.
A place without tears.
A place of wonder and worship.
Forever belonging.
Peace.
Rest.
Perfect love.

Take a deep breath and read that list again. What would you add?

We don’t even need to answer the second question, “What are earthly things?”. We are keenly aware of our troubles and sorrow, the brokenness that surrounds us and wreaks havoc within us. God isn’t calling us to ignore these things or pretend they aren’t real or don’t have an immediate impact on our lives.

Rather, He is inviting us to set our minds — fix our thoughts, determine our focus — on Him, despite what’s happening here on earth. Because He is where our hope and joy live.

 

When Winter Outstays Its Welcome

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Winter in New England is idyllic. The world I live in is reminiscent of L.L.Bean magazines and Robert Frost poems. November enters quietly with early morning frosts and snow flurries. December settles in comfortably with a white blanket on the cold earth, usually just in time for Christmas. January’s piercing blue skies make our northern snow globe sparkle. It’s pure magic.

But then February and March show up, and everyone is done with the snow turning brown on the corners of the road. The charm has worn off — we are tired of shoveling. Winter outstays its welcome . . . and we get antsy for warmer weather.

Almost six years ago, a white blanket of winter settled over my life. A chronic illness I’d battled for years avalanched into symptoms worse than I’d dreamed — and I was buried. I found myself shoveling an insurmountable world of snow, with nowhere to put it and no end in sight. As I looked around at my new reality, iced in by limitations that took away life as I knew it, I felt the pain. But I also felt the Holy Spirit near to me, a “very present help in trouble.”

Suffering is never idyllic, but the snow in that season of life still sparkled. God showed me how he flipped my suffering and used it for good. He used it in my friends’ lives as they watched my world crumble and wondered where my hope was. The spiritual conversations with classmates — and even strangers — were new and exciting as I pointed to Christ’s beautiful gospel. God sanctified me, pulling out sin tendencies and idols that we needed to burn.

He softened and sharpened me. He proved to me over and over that He could be trusted. He used my suffering to change my career path, inviting me into a ministry that fit the contours of my heart better than any of my prior plans. I was snowed in, but I could see the beauty of the storm. It held its magic. That was my November, December, and January . . . but it’s been five and a half years.

“God has taught me so much,” I told my pastor. “But I’m ready to move on.”

I want to drive long distances with ease again, have full days without resting, and be able to start a family. There are dreams unfulfilled that I’m reaching out for. I’m longing for warmer weather, normalcy, and healing. I am in March, shoveling dirty snow, and I just want to put down the shovel.

Perhaps you are in a season where suffering clings close, falling thick and fast like flurrying flakes. Perhaps you’ve been caught in an avalanche or ice storm. Are you in your November, just beginning to feel the earth harden? Are you in your December or January, shivering in the sea of snow but still seeing the sparkle? Or, like me, are you in the months that you expected to be spring, cursing the muddy snow that mucks up your life?

If you are longing for summer’s sun to melt the suffering of life, I see you. God sees you. And from one suffering saint to another, here is what I know right now:

I know that God mourns with me and catches my tears in a bottle.

I know that His comfort will carry me through even though I walk through the valley.

I know that God redeems suffering, and that all things work together for good for those who love Him. And . . . I also know that “my good” may not look like healing on this side of heaven. Even still, my greatest good is to be with God — and if my suffering pulls me closer to Him, then hallelujah anyway.

I know that nothing — absolutely nothing — will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

I know that God is the author of my story, and I fully trust Him with the pen because the beauty, depth, honor, and purity of the work He produces is so beyond what I could ever write for myself.

I know that I will one day be healed, and that God will wipe away every tear and death shall be no more.

Dear suffering saint, God is with you in the storm, keeping you safe and warm through all your seasons. He is, indeed, a “very present help in trouble.” When we throw down our shovels in despair, He looks us in the eyes with all the tenderness of a loving Father and picks it up Himself. It was never ours to carry anyway. . .

Join me in giving the shovel to God. You can rest in His strong arms; you can trust Him with your life.

Even in the winter, the warmth of His care is warmer than any summer day.

Why You Might Need an Identity Refresher

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I didn’t think I had an issue with identity.

I’ve always been a pretty self-assured person, confidently marching to the beat of my own awkward drum. In elementary school, I liked wearing dinosaur tennis shoes and a pink neon tank top. Later, I was one of those rare creatures who actually liked middle school. I liked learning and boys and playing the trumpet in band. And I was blissfully unaware of how greasy my bangs were.

Not that I was without insecurities. In high school, I worried my skin was too pasty and my zits too many. I worried about pleasing people and performing well. Even so, I more or less knew and loved who I was.

Entering young adulthood and now into my forties, I’ve been lucky never to have had a crisis of faith or identity – save for those early years of motherhood where I felt like my existence had been reduced to a butt wiper and milk machine. (Yes, I love my children and believe it’s a privilege to care for them. Some seasons are just extra hard.)

But when it comes to my core identity, I’ve always felt confident in who I am as a person loved by God and created in His image. Like, check. Got it. Thanks, God. I’m good.

So when I was recently sharing with a friend about a deep struggle I was having with body issues, I was surprised when she told me that her sense from the Lord was that my issue actually had nothing to do with weight or aging but with identity.

Huh?

It felt very much like my issue had to do with the thirty pounds I’d gained and my feelings about that.

But over the days and weeks that followed that conversation, I asked the Lord to show me if there was something to this identity stuff. Bit by bit, through a podcast here and a Scripture there, God started unfolding new pieces to the puzzle of my soul.

I knew I was saved by God, but I was beginning to grasp in a deeper way how much I was loved by God. I was starting to understand that the way I see myself directly impacts the way I see God.

It’s true: What we believe about ourselves directly impacts what we believe about God. Do you believe that? Here are just two examples of how this shakes out:

  1. If I believe I am ugly or stupid, then I also believe that God made a mistake in how he made me.
  2. If I believe I’m loved because of how I look or what I accomplish, then I also believe that God’s love is conditional and not enough for me.

See how that works?

We have to ask God to reveal to us false beliefs about ourselves that have, often unconsciously, taken root in our hearts. And then ask Him to help us exchange those false beliefs for His truth.

A couple of weeks ago, I asked God to speak into my identity, to show me who He says I am. This is what I felt prompted to write in my journal…

I am God’s daughter. The King’s daughter. The Princess has the King’s divine affection. She has unobstructed access to Her Father. She knows His power but she also knows His love — for her, for His people, for His kingdom. There is no length the King wouldn’t go to to rescue His daughter. All He has is available to her; it’s her future inheritance and her present access. Why would the King’s daughter suffer and struggle and strive alone when she has FULL access to her Father’s resources, riches, and influence? But most importantly, access to the King’s wisdom, counsel, and support!

The King’s daughter knows the privilege, joy, and responsibility of being in the Father’s family — a royal and set-apart people. She is constantly aware of her princess identity. She continually looks to her Father; she is secure in His approval and delight over her. Even if everyone in the kingdom disagrees with or devalues her, the King’s blessing is all she needs.

Yes, His crown of blessing marks her identity. She is a beloved daughter — precious and protected — but she is also a royal warrior.

She holds the King’s shield and sword. She is marked by His seal. She wears His full armor. She is a formidable force against the enemy. No harm will come to her as the King and His powerful army stand with and around her. She never fights alone. Yes, she never even sleeps alone — her Father’s soldiers are always standing guard. What a miracle to be the King’s daughter.

That is who I am.

Friend, that is who you are too! If you’ve accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior then you are a co-heir with Christ, an adopted daughter of the Most High King! Don’t just read those words. Let them really sink in. You have access to all that Jesus is and all that He has.

And above all, you are so, so loved.

“I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.”
Ephesians 1:18-19 NIV

Need more help seeing yourself the way God sees you? Subscribe to Becky’s new podcast, Hope and Reason, where you’ll hear real stories of God’s real impact on our lives and be reminded of how deeply you are loved.

 

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