When You Need It in a New York Minute

When You Need It in a New York Minute

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I’m a New Yorker, through and through.

Can’t tell you how many times I’ve crossed over the George Washington Bridge — sixteen singles in hand to pay that ever-rising toll — only to drive over the suspended bridge that spills out into the parkway stretched parallel with the Hudson River.

Can’t tell you how many deli lines I’ve stood in, taking my ticket and then ordering a bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel — a New York bagel — the only kind of bagel in the whole wide world with the right ratio of crunch and fluff factor.

But I gotta tell ya, there’s only one way we take our bagels (when they’re not sandwiched with bacon, eggs, and cheese . . . of course). It’s not with a little bit or even a dollop of cream cheese. It’s with a smear, a whole, thick spread of cream cheese. And the bagel is rarely toasted because it doesn’t need to be when it’s as fresh as you can get ‘em in New York. My favorite place, of all places, to get bagels is Rockland Bakery. There, they roll them out on stacked racks by the hundreds — the sesame bagels, the pumpernickel bagels, the poppyseed bagels, and the salt bagels.

But, these days, I no longer live in New York — and I’m gluten-free (due to my health), so I miss my beloved bagels, cream cheese and all. One thing remains, though. One thing that’s always been true and will always be true.

It’s the proverbial . . . you can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl.

I grew up just miles outside of New York City, and I can tell you the fast-paced hustle and bustle that the world knows New York for is true. We talk fast and we walk fast. We have places to be and we know where we’re going. Where I’m from, the Tri-State area, is easily one of the largest, most populated metropolitan areas in the United States. This makes opportunity in New York both abundant and scarce, which then drives cultural pressure to be competitive and competent.

We jaywalk, we cut corners. We do what we gotta do. We don’t have time to spare, not even a New York minute, because, for lots of different reasons — historically and presently — time is money and money is time.

All of this brings a smile to my face as I think about The City That Never Sleeps and its suburban sisters that are just as restless. But, it also stirs a question in my spirit as I think about the ways in which I wake and work and walk.

I feel it in my blood and my bones still — that city-pace living — even though I’m six hundred miles from home, living in the South where everything is seemingly slow. I notice the impulse when I’m going through my to-do’s and see the long list of things that need to be bought, fixed, and done. I see it when I rob Peter to pay Paul because I can’t wait another second to get a barking bill off my back. I see it when I’m out walking with my boys. Placing my hand on their backs, I gently nudge them to hurry along, muttering things like, “Let’s go,” and “Keep up,” though we’ve no real place to really get to.

In these moments, I’ve begun to examine my pace and ask myself: Why are you rushing? Why can’t you slow down? 

As a writer, I’ve convinced myself that I live a slow life simply because I lead a pensive thought life. But, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Just because I think deeply and dream of living a slow and rested life doesn’t mean I’m actually living it.

I have cards on the counter — cards for friends and family — that should have gone out a month ago. Instead, they’re sitting there blank and bare. I pass them, just like I whip past the magazines on my desk. I am surrounded by all of these pastimes, invitations to slow down and do things that take time and require intention and attention. Instead, I fast-walk through life, unhinged and speeding like a city subway with no brakes to slow or stop.

I love New York just as much as the next person but, my goodness, she has branded me with a birthmark that is hard to lose and let go of. Twelve years ago, I thought I gave this life up, this way of chasing after the kind of city-paced living that taunts you to go, go, go and do, do, do.

In the rare moments of quiet and calm, before I find myself reaching and rushing to the next thing — or the next place to be, or meal to make, or email to answer, or checkbox to check — I’m beginning to sense the Holy Spirit’s hand on my heart, leading me to believe that He alone can rewire the rhythm in my soul. I sense Him whispering to me, telling me to stall and stay a while longer, to tolerate the quiet, and spend my spare moments standing in awe of Him and all the work that He is doing.

Yes, this native New Yorker is coming to terms with the truth. That, we can slow our stroll, take our time putting the kids to bed, chopping our vegetables, and brewing the morning’s coffee. The one and only thing we need in a New York minute is Him.

All we really need right now — and forever more — is His presence, His Word hidden in our hearts, His praise on our lips.

 

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What Will I Choose with My Words?

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She walked up to me while everyone else was arranging flowers for the memorial service and said, “I think I’ll just stand here next to you until someone tells me what to do.”

I said, “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Waiting for orders.” She looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her. “I’m so sorry, I’m meeting a lot of Jenn’s friends today. Have we met before?”

She gave me side-eye, like she was trying to figure out if I was joking or not. “Umm, it’s me, Chelsea. We’re staying at the same Airbnb?”

Friend, I wanted the earth to swallow me up. How embarrassing.

So, for the next couple of hours, every time I saw Chelsea, she would reach her hand out and introduce herself once again. It was her way of saying, “I get it. We all mess up, but it’s still funny.”

Later on that day, I was trying to tell someone that I had “stuck around” for a phone call, but it came out as “I stack around.” A man across the table from me said, “I thought you were a professional writer? Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re a writer and not a professional speaker.”

I was stunned into silence because I am, in fact, a professional speaker.

We all get teased, so we all know that this sort of communication can make us feel either accepted or rejected.

There’s the “included” tease. It’s the kind of teasing that pulls you in. The “we all do it” kind of tease that is often accompanied by our own story of how we messed up. It’s okay if someone is laughing at you, because they are laughing at themselves. We are all laughing together.

Then there is another kind of teasing. The kind used to push down the target in some way. The kind where everyone who hears it — not just the object of the teasing — feels uncomfortable.

The man’s comment to me was definitely of the rejection variety. But I didn’t say anything this time because we were at an event honoring a friend who had recently passed, and I didn’t want to do anything to take away from the purpose of our gathering together.

But when I’ve found myself in similar circumstances, I now know what to do when someone else is trying to bully me with words:

Ask them to explain.

A simple “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” goes a long way when asking someone to explain their actions. It’s a great way to assume that someone misspoke and to give them another chance to explain why they said what they did.

Sometimes people double down. “It’s just a joke.” (This is called gaslighting and it helps me recognize the truth — someone is trying to cover up for what they know they did wrong.)

So the next step in my strategy is to say, “I’m sorry, I’m missing why that is funny.” Oftentimes people think putting you down is funny, but it’s only funny in their eyes. When asked to explain, they realize that it’s only funny to them, and it’s only funny when they are hurting someone else. (It is my personal experience that it’s best to stay away from those types of people as much as possible.)

I have been careless with my words more times than I would like to confess. I’ve said something scathing to get a laugh, or hurtful because I was feeling insecure.

But here is what I know: We can train our tongue.

God’s Word has a lot to say about the choices we are making with the words we use, but this verse is very direct:

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”
Ephesians 4:29

We can train our tongue to apologize quickly. I still slip up, but when I apologize in the moment, it’s amazing how many people will accept that apology gracefully and without reservation.

We can train our tongue to hold back. As I’m getting a little older, I’m taking a beat (or two) to think about what I’m saying before I say it. Most of the time, I realize that what I’m about to say isn’t hurtful. I’m now much more concerned about someone else’s feelings than getting the upper hand.

We can train our tongue to speak words of encouragement. It feels great to be funny in the moment, but specific encouragement will be remembered for years to come.

Today is the day to make the change. If you’ve used words that could have hurt, it’s not too late to ask for forgiveness.

And if you’ve been wounded by teasing, know that you are not “too sensitive.” Protect your peace. Part of peace is knowing what words to let linger around you and which to reject. My friend, you are far too loved and valued by God to let any unkind words linger in your presence.

 

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Cultivating Kindness

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We all know that we’re supposed to be kind to others, and we genuinely want to. But it’s easy to get off track when we’re stuck in traffic, feel like we were wronged, face loud, contradicting viewpoints, or are even criticized for our own beliefs. How does the Bible tell us to respond to our adversaries? How did Jesus treat those who criticized Him? In I Peter 2:23, it says that “while [Jesus was] being reviled, He did not revile in return; while suffering, He uttered no threats, but kept entrusting Himself to Him who judges righteously.” Jesus did not argue with His critics. He did not keep a grudge or become angry with them. Instead, Jesus carried on teaching from village to village because His focus was on pleasing God, not those who had wronged Him.

So, while none of us are perfect, we are called to become more and more like the Perfect One. That means we respond with respect, we respond with love, we respond with peace, and we respond with the hope of unity in mind. If we, as Christians, started responding with this type of kindness in every situation, to every person, everywhere we go, we would stand out.

People wouldn’t be able to ignore the difference we’d be making in our families, our communities, and ultimately in our world. And when we do that, we become the salt and the light (Matthew 5:13-16). If we can turn kindness into something that’s not just an act, but a way of life that automatically flows through us as we journey on this earth, we will be pleasing the One who showed us the ultimate act of kindness when He gave His life to redeem us.

Kind Words

When I was a water safety instructor many years ago, I had to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a drowning victim. This involved putting my mouth to their mouth and breathing into their lungs to help them find life again.

As Christians, it is important to check in regularly with ourselves regarding how we use our mouths. Are we, as God says to, speaking grace to those who hear us? Are we speaking truth at all times? Are we demonstrating to nonbelievers that we truly care about them? Do they know, when we’re sitting beside them, that we’re there to help and not hurt? And when they hear us, do they recognize our words as life-giving?

Kindness is demonstrated through good words. With every breath, we have the opportunity to say words that tear down, or words that build up.

Nobody is perfect. But with how we talk to others, we can show them that the goodness of God is worth discovering and enjoying. We can allow them to have a taste of God’s kindness by how kind we are to them.

“Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a word as is good for edification according to the need of the moment, so that it will give grace to those who hear.”
Ephesians 4:29

“Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, and forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you.”
Ephesians 4:31–32

Lord, make my words pleasing to all who hear them. Fill my heart with kindness so that I speak kindness wherever I go.

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Dr. Tony Evans is the founder and senior pastor of Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship in Dallas, founder and president of The Urban Alternative, and author of over 150 books, booklets, and Bible studies. The first African American to earn a doctorate of theology from Dallas Theological Seminary, he has been named one of the Twelve Most Effective Preachers in the English-Speaking World by Baylor University. Dr. Evans’s radio broadcast is heard on over 1,400 radio outlets daily, and his sermons are streamed and downloaded over twenty million times annually.

His new collection with DaySpring begins with 100 Days of Cultivating Kindness, a 100-day guide to becoming contagiously kind in order to change the world. 

How do you change minds and attitudes?

How do you alter the perspectives and paradigms of others?

How do you make the world a better place?

It isn’t through violence, retaliation, or insisting on our own way. In fact, one of the strongest forces for changing lives is simple, free, and fulfilling: kindness.

In 100 Days of Cultivating Kindness, Dr. Tony Evans lays out a compelling case for being contagiously kind. Not only do we have the help of the Holy Spirit and the example of our Savior, but we have every reason to engage others with kindness based on the results that it provides. The truth is, kindness that catches on could turn our world upside down. Come discover the power and passion to be relentlessly kind — and see what happens next!

Order your copy of Cultivating Kindness today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

 

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*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 4/27/23. Winners will be drawn at random and notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

For When You’re (Still) Waiting on a Miracle…

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Easter has passed and I’m still waiting for resurrection.

Hoping for, begging for, watching for signs of life. Straining my eyes for beauty in the ashes, listening intently for a whisper in the rubble.

There are many who say it’s best to wait until you’re on the other side before you write the story, before you say the words, before you tell what happened. Perspective and all. There’s wisdom in that, but if I’m honest, when I’m in a middle place I don’t only need to hear from those a chapter or two ahead… I need to know I’m not alone on this page.⁣

Today, I’m in the middle.

Today, I’m waiting for deep heartache to become a doorway of hope.

Today, I’m living in Holy Saturday, that great in-between day of confusion and questions, loss and sorrow.

It’s easy, even tempting, to skip over Saturday when we think of Easter. It’s more comfortable to move on to bright colors and hands raised, to worship songs and “He is risen” declarations. Despite writing an entire book for those in the messy middle, for those who need hope for tomorrow when today feels like a question mark, I’ll be the first to admit that if given the choice, I’d much prefer to hurry through to redemption and restoration.

I know what God can do, am fully confident of His power, and rest securely in His promises, and yet here I am — and perhaps, here you are too — holding both the grief of Good Friday and the joy of Easter morning.

Here, in Saturday.

Here, in the in-between.

Here, in the first part of Psalm 126:5.

“Those who sow in tears,” the Psalmist begins.

“What color is waiting?” one character asked another in a novel I read during Lent. “What color is sadness? Loneliness? Rejection? Shock?”

The main character, an artist, finds herself navigating unexpected loss and grief that turns her world upside down. I slowly flip the pages, pausing to consider, imagining a canvas covered in shades of gray as tears threaten to drip onto the page in my hands. A few days later, I stood in the paint aisle of my local craft store. In the days leading up to Easter, I added layer upon layer to my canvas, thick strokes mixing together.

Then I went to the plant store. My hands, speckled with paint, planted seeds deep in the dirt. Seeds that look remarkably like tears.

It will be a while before the flowers begin to bloom. Time takes time, and today the color of waiting isn’t too far off from the Burnt Umber on the canvas and the dirt beneath my fingernails. Today, the middle is quite literally messy and muddy. But there’s a miracle hidden in the word itself, in naming something the middle, in the very place where we think, “Yes, this feels like one long Saturday.”

If we’re in the middle, then it can’t possibly be “The End.”

We remember this at Easter as we adorn the cross and sing “In Christ Alone”, but it’s just as true every other day. The story was never, ever going to end on Saturday. After all, there’s more to Psalm 126.

“Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them.”
Psalm 126:5-6

The Message translation says it this way: “And now, God, do it again — bring rains to our drought-stricken lives so those who planted their crops in despair will shout ‘Yes!’ at the harvest, so those who went off with heavy hearts will come home laughing, with armloads of blessing.”

“What color is belief?” I asked myself this morning. What color is hope and trust, faithfulness and rejoicing? What color is the promise of resurrection? Gold, I decided. Starlight Gold, to be exact, swirling among the thick strokes of Cloudy Day, Midnight, and Smokescreen.

Light in the dark. Peace in the storm. A compass in the night. A tear-shaped seed cracking, breaking, bursting open so that new life can emerge. Ours is a story where resurrection is already and always on the way.

I don’t see it yet, at least not in this particular middle place. I’m still watching, still waiting, still begging, and believing that the page will turn. What I know, though, is that Sunday is always coming.

Today, I remind myself: We have a God who turned the very worst of all days into a day known around the world as “Good.”

Today, I remember: We have a God who doesn’t rush us through the middle of Saturday but instead joins us in the dirt, weeps with us in loss, and walks with us through heartbreak and confusion.

Today, I rejoice because: We have a God who came near in order to break open, who became a seed that was buried so that we might come home laughing, arms filled to overflowing with goodness.

Easter has passed and I’m still waiting for resurrection.

But if we’re in the middle, then it can’t possibly be “The End.”

If you’re currently walking through a middle place, desperate to see God’s goodness in the chapters you wouldn’t have necessarily chosen, Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between is for you. You have not been forgotten or overlooked. There is beauty, even here, and you are not alone.

 

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God Shows Up for Our Loved Ones When We Can’t

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Feeling helpless when someone you love is in distress is pure torment — until God shows up. 

For thirty years, Mom and I painted together every Friday. I’d arrive and we’d head to her art room — Mom with her tea and me with my pink energy drink — and we’d paint, talk, and laugh into the evening. 

Mom was a best friend to each of her daughters and was always there for us. Whether it was as a “shop ’til you drop” companion or bumping along in my sister’s truck over the Sierra summit for a vet clinic while bundled in a heavy coat and long underwear, all while balancing a sixty-four-ounce tea on the pile of blankets on her lap . . . Mom was there, laughing. Always laughing. 

So when her early dementia diagnosis came, it hit us like a mudslide, stripping away our familiar family landscape and leaving it in a tumbling mess of pain. 

Because my dad couldn’t manage their ranch and simultaneously care for my mom, we moved them out-of-state to be closer to more family. But within a year, my dad died of heart failure and Mom, with progressing dementia, landed in a memory care home. Not the story our family expected.

Suddenly, three states away felt like fifty . . . but when you’re a doer and there’s a need, you get things done — until you can’t. Mom was in distress and I was helpless to save her. 

Saying we trust God with our loved ones is easy until He asks us to let them go. 

The phone calls were tough. Mom cried while I tried to reassure her of a future I wasn’t sure of myself. I’d hang up, guilt and shame consuming me. I’ve failed her. Hot, fitful tears soaked my pillow night after sleepless night. I should be doing more. But a full-time job and strained bank account won’t allow much margin. 

At times, we may feel like our loved ones’ lives are in our hands, but no one’s ultimate well-being rests solely in your hands or mine. We do our best and leave the results to God. 

I prayed and “showed up” through phone calls. The rest was under His watchful eye — and if His eye was on the sparrow, then it was on my mom. God is loving and faithful and promises to never leave or forsake us. I prayed that promise for Mom and preached it to myself. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

But the torment of hearing her fear and pain still stewed in my gut — until God showed up for me personally.  

The opening scene in Ezekiel depicts the Jewish exiles gathered by a Babylonian river, heads hanging, hearts aching, as they wept over the destruction of their families and homeland. The exiles had witnessed the murder of family and friends, made the long, merciless trek as prisoners of war, and now faced a future of slavery in a foreign land.

“In my thirtieth year, in the fourth month on the fifth day, while I was among the exiles by the Kebar River, the heavens were opened and I saw visions of God. On the fifth of the month—it was the fifth year of the exile of King Jehoiachin—the word of the Lord came to Ezekiel the priest, the son of Buzi, by the Kebar River in the land of the Babylonians. There the hand of the Lord was on him.”
Ezekiel 1:1–3 (NIV)

For the captive Israelites, Babylon represented profound pain and loss. 

Yet, in that place of deep suffering, surrounded by weeping and broken kinsman, God opened heaven to Ezekiel and gave him a vision of His presence in Babylon with His exiled people. In Ezekiel’s bondage, fear, and helplessness, God’s hand was upon him.

Just as God showed up for the exiles, He would show up for me in my loss and Mom in her suffering. 

For the rest of her time on earth, I slept better. I cried healing tears and gave my best on every phone call. It was still hard . . . but I no longer felt responsible for outcomes. I celebrated that I could bring love, compassion, connection, and prayers to Mom. I still heard pain in her voice on our calls — and it hurt, but it didn’t undo me. 

The last time I talked to Mom, I was at a cabin in the woods. When I called, my aunt answered. She was with Mom, along with a close family friend that Mom adored. I spoke briefly with my semi-conscious mom, then I spoke with a family friend who was holding Mom’s hand and telling her how much she was loved. I wept with gratitude that in her place of suffering, the hand of the Lord was upon her.

Later, the cabin owners told me they were shocked that I’d made a call out. “We’ve never had cell service out there,” they’d said. 

Mom died a few weeks later. My sister sat next to her, talking to her and rubbing her back. You could say God’s hand was upon Mom through it all. 

God shows up when we can’t. He frees us from guilt, shame, and torment and the lie that we can “save” anyone. He picks up the burden, bears the weight, and brings us rest and peace . . . right smack in the middle of suffering.

Now, when I remember Mom, I think of oil paints and easels, and I picture her looking at me over a partially-painted canvas, head thrown back in laughter.

Are You Trustworthy?

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“A gossip goes around revealing a secret,
but a trustworthy person keeps a confidence.”
Proverbs 11:13

We live in a culture that has made gossip a glossy commodity. There are magazines, websites, TV shows, and social media accounts dedicated to revealing the secrets, the inside scoop, the dirt on people’s lives. Gossip has become entertainment. This is true even if you never pick up a tabloid or succumb to clickbait. Gossip thrives around the proverbial water coolers of our lives. At school pick. In the corners of the church. Lingering in the lunch room. On the soccer sidelines or in the back of the dance studio. People’s ears perk up when there is something juicy or cutting or unbelievable to share. It’s this enticing attention that often compels us to be the one who spills the secret.

But the Bible is clear that how we use our words matters. Gossip is not godly. If we are women of faith, women of the Word, then we need to also be women of our word. If something is shared with us in confidence, we honor the Lord by keeping that confidence.

As God is trustworthy with the tender places of our hearts and hard parts of our stories, may we tend well to the hearts and stories entrusted to our care.

 

The Things We Save Can’t Save Us

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I go through dozens of Grandma’s collected dishes and glassware, each piece delicate and fine. And my mom has a story for each one:

“Oh, that was the candy dish! If I snuck a piece, I had to lift the silver lid just right, so it wouldn’t make any noise.”

“She set out that dish and filled it with nuts, served with this silver spoon at every church ladies’ circle meeting.”

“She put mashed potatoes in that bowl!”

I scour the Internet for details on the precious glassware, and what I find makes me gasp. Each piece is worth actual dollars! Some pieces are worth several actual dollars! The day I loaded her white Havilland into the back of the minivan, I drove almost as carefully as the day we brought our firstborn from the hospital.

As I set each dish, plate, and cup in their home in my hutch (which was also Grandma’s!), I pause to really look at them — and marvel at what I see. Light and tiny but very much present atop plates are lines where knives scraped across them decades ago. She actually used these!, I think.

That thought strikes me hard because I am a saver. Gardenia perfume I wore on my wedding day? I spritz it on my wrists only on our anniversary. Beautiful teacup from my wedding shower? I haven’t used it since. Crisp white linen napkins, received for our engagement? I only bring them out for Christmas dinner. All these gifts, literally collecting dust.

Most likely, their giver wouldn’t be too happy if they knew their gifts were just taking up space instead of bringing joy on a regular basis. While some things are more meaningful when held onto, the idea of leaving my best things unused doesn’t sit well in my heart.

Because if I can’t bring myself to use the good dishes on a Tuesday night, what else do I hoard and squirrel away? My best listening ear, reserved only for people in crisis. The best of my servant’s heart, reserved for those who can somehow serve me back. The best of my God-given gifts, reserved to the point where they become buried, and I argue when He asks me to use them.

It’s as though we believe the things we save could save us.

“Don’t hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or — worse! — stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it’s safe from moths and rust and burglars. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being.”
Matthew 6:19-21 MSG

I’ve heard it said that “you become what you behold” — wisdom from 2 Corinthians 3:18. What am I becoming if I am holding back the best of my things, and the best of myself — both out of fear?

My grandma never held back. She brought out the good plates and lit the candles on the dining room table for lasagna dinner on Wednesday nights. She always had a full candy dish waiting for us. She never withheld her listening ear or her love. Her warm and wrinkled hands were ready for holding, and her arms were open wide for hugs. She was generous with her love, her time, and her jewelry collection.

There is deep power in loving others, and we are able to both give and receive that when we gather around the table and give our best.

Grandma’s dishes now live in my kitchen cupboards. Over time, I will add to the faint knife scrapes on the plates, so that when my kids go through them in sixty years, they too will have stories to tell.

Story by Anna E. Rendell and featured in A Mother’s Love.

Above is an excerpt from our book, A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom, which is full of reflections on God’s heart. Featuring unique and diverse stories from the (in)courage community, A Mother’s Love offers heartfelt encouragement to all kinds of moms, whether they’re a mother in a traditional sense, a spiritual mother, or a mother-like figure who breaks the mold.

This book is sure to help any woman share a meaningful gift with someone who has been impactful in her life, a new mom learning the ropes, or a close loved one facing the joys and challenges of any stage and type of motherhood. Compiled with all women in mind so we can celebrate those who made us, shaped us, helped us grow, and loved us well, A Mother’s Love is a beautiful gift for the moms in your life.

As Mother’s Day approaches, we know that it is a complex day full of many emotions and experiences. Know that at (in)courage, we are praying for each of you in this season as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what it means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, and nurtures those who become part of the next generation is doing amazing work and is to be celebrated.

Lost in Mexico

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When we got out of our Taxi bus after spending the week in Mexico for spring break with our children, we were annoyed and tired. It wasn’t because it was hot, it wasn’t because it was a long drive, it wasn’t because our kids were poking at each other the whole time. It was because my husband had broke his leg while surfing two days earlier, and two days before that, we had gotten some kind of stomach bug that landed us near a toilet, not the beautiful ocean.

“This trip needs to just be over. I mean, what else could go wrong?” I said while packing.

As we exited the bus, we were met with the chaos of the crowded airport — people everywhere, shouting vendors, arrivals and departures, tons of white vans bringing passengers to and from. So I gave clear instructions to the children, “Ok, we will go across this yellow crosswalk.” Except I was wrong and my husband corrected me, “No, we need to go to the other crosswalk at departures.” We quickly scurried through the designated crosswalk to escape the outdoor chaos. Once inside, it was calmer. We were moving a bit slower with my husband on crutches and my son and I taking his bags. When we got to the counter, we handed over our passports and they ticketed our luggage. “Nothing for Pruett?” the attendant asked. We looked around. 

And that’s when terror set in. Our eight-year-old son Pruett was nowhere to be seen. My teenage son, Layne, and I split up and yelled for him. We ran and I screamed Pruett’s name over and over as loud as I could. I went outside and yelled into the crowd scanning back and forth. People were looking at me, still carrying on, drinking margaritas at the outdoor bar. I was screaming the loudest I had ever screamed. I ran back inside and my husband saw that I still didn’t have him. So he took off on his crutches so fast, he probably rebroke his leg. 

Minutes later, Layne walked into the building holding hands with a crying Pruett and chastising him, “You have to stay near us. What were you thinking?!” But I ran to my small son as he explained. “I’m sorry. I went on the crosswalk you told me to go to. I lost you guys. I’m very sorry! I was so scared!” 

“You are not in trouble! I am so glad we found you!! I said the wrong way and you didn’t hear Dad tell us the right way,” I said, wiping the tears off his face and retrieving a pen to write my phone on his arm in huge font. I was NOT letting that happen again!

As terrifying as this experience was, as heart-wrenching as it felt, it made the other bad parts of the trip melt quickly away. I was so thankful to have my kid by my side, safe again. I was never mad at Pruett for getting lost, I simply ached to find him. I searched him out while he took the wrong way, not listening, and landing in a scary position. 

I think about that with God, how we think He’s mad at us. How we think He’ll be mad at us when or if we return. How sometimes we have to sit in our scary mess for a bit to understand how much we need to be rescued. How the good father waits at the gate for the prodigal son but the brother chastises him for not doing the right thing like he did. 

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him.”
 Luke 15:20

This story has a sudden new meaning for me after our Mexico experience.

There’s something we say in our house, sort of like a catechism, back and forth. It goes like this:

I ask, “Is God mad at you?” 

The kids answer, “No, Jesus took all of God’s wrath on my behalf.”

I say that to them because I believed for a long time that God must be mad at me for sinning, not staying on the right track, and bad behaviors. And maybe you’re wondering the same thing. But we know from Scripture that God isn’t like that towards us. He can not possibly be mad at us for our lostness. In fact, He patiently waits at the gate, scanning the pasture in anticipation that we will get tired of our pig trough and come back. And then He throws a celebration! 

This is good news for the sick ones, the lost ones, the ones who just can’t seem to get it right and messed up big. God waits for you today.

 

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Drenched in God’s Mercy

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But you are God’s chosen treasure—priests who are kings, a spiritual “nation” set apart as God’s devoted ones. He called you out of darkness to experience his marvelous light, and now he claims you as his very own. He did this so that you would broadcast his glorious wonders throughout the world. For at one time you were not God’s people, but now you are. At one time you knew nothing of God’s mercy, because you hadn’t received it yet, but now you are drenched with it!
1 Peter 2:9

When I was in junior high and high school, my PE coaches would often assign captains to pick teams when we were playing games like dodgeball and soccer. I discovered it was a privilege and a curse to be the team captain because the captain was forced to make the hard choices.

Everyone in the class would line up nervously. The first captain would pick a player. Then the second captain would pick a player. Then back to the first captain. Choosing teammates required some strategy. A captain might pick the most athletic girls first if she really wanted to win the game. She might also consider choosing her friends first so she could hang out with them on the field.

I’ve always had a soft heart, so I would intentionally choose the kids I knew were going to get picked last. I hated the idea that someone would have to wait to be chosen until the very end. My heart was to show them grace and mercy, not just to build a team in the expected way.

Someone who is described as “chosen” is said to be the object of divine favor or is given a special privilege. Throughout the pages of Scripture, the word chosen is used to mean elect, examined, preferred, and selected.

In the first two chapters of Genesis, we see God choose Adam and Eve as His special creation. Everything else God speaks into existence, but God chooses to bend low and form Adam from the dust of the earth. God also knew it was not good for Adam to be alone, so the Master Sculptor chooses to fashion Eve from one of Adam’s ribs. Both man and woman are created in the image and likeness of God according to Genesis 1:26.

Adam and Eve — and all of us — are chosen to be distinct spiritual and physical beings who reflect God’s glory to the world. We have been given the privilege and task of stewarding creation well.

The opening passage from 1 Peter highlights our call as believers and recipients of God’s mercy to “broadcast his glorious wonders throughout the world.” There are many ways we can point others to His glory. Maybe it’s telling a friend or someone we meet on an airplane about how God has transformed our lives. Maybe it’s writing about God’s glory in a book or posting photos on Instagram that show His glory. Maybe it’s singing a song or composing a poem or painting a picture.

Friend, you are chosen. You are chosen to live in this era, this generation, this year with its many challenges and privileges. The story you are living today, the message you carry in your heart, the people you are leading and feeding — all of these present an opportunity to give God glory. Don’t miss it!

Dear Lord, thank You for drenching me in Your love and mercy today. I am humbled that You chose me to be Your witness in the world. Give me the creativity and courage to share the story of Your glory with others in my spheres of influence. Amen.

In our divisive and unforgiving world, we need mercy more than ever. When we extend grace toward one another despite faults, mistakes, and differences of opinion, we model the kind of long-suffering patience and love that God shows toward us. But how do you cultivate a merciful heart in the midst of a culture where everyone seems quick to judge and slow to forgive? Where do you begin?

Meet Create in Me a Heart of Mercy, the newest (in)courage Bible study and final in this series, written by Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young and featuring stories from your favorite (in)courage writers.

The mercy God has shown us through Jesus is meant to flow through us to the rest of the world as a powerful witness to God’s love and forgiveness. Let God create in you a heart of mercy!

Our prayer is that this study will encourage you to seek the Lord and the mercy He offers each one of us. Create in Me a Heart of Mercy releases in May, and we are SO excited to see how God will use it to speak to your heart. Sign up below to get a FREE full week of Bible study from Create in Me a Heart of Mercy, and preorder your copy today!

Get your FREE week from the Heart of Mercy Bible Study!

Sign up here and we’ll send you the introduction + first full week from Create in Me a Heart of Mercy. It’s a perfect way to get a sneak peek at the book and decide if it’s right for your next Bible study!

 

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When God Says No But Invites You to Something Better

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Why are God’s no’s so painful? 

As a graduate student, I asked God if I could attend seminary or theology school. I thought nothing could be more pleasing to Him. I considered ‘Pastor’ or ‘Bible Scholar’ to be the highest calling. Also, the academic side of me wanted to be grounded in Greek, Hebrew,  exegesis, and hermeneutics.  

But God said no, and nudged me towards focusing on race. I asked again. Again, He said no, and led me on a path to study race and racism. This was over twenty-five years ago, when it was common to hear in church circles that “the person talking about race is the racist.” As a Christian learning to align her life with God’s heart, hearing this from the church was not only uncomfortable, it was excruciating! 

So for years, as racism continued to fester under the radar for so many churches, God invited me to be immersed in studying patterns, behaviors, and beliefs that are the antithesis of God’s expression of love through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. I had the privilege of reading the insights of scholars whose work prompted a transformation in me. 

During this time, Romans 12:2 came to life for me in a new way. Paul writes: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing, and perfect will.” I used to read this passage with an emphasis on a world/church binary – as in ‘church, please do not follow worldly patterns.’ In this duality, the WORLD is perceived as a fallen state due to the effects of sin, which entered the world through the disobedience of Adam and Eve. As a result, the world is often characterized by greed, selfishness, and moral decay, and is ruled by Satan, the prince of this world. In contrast, the CHURCH is seen as a holy and redeemed community, set apart from the world. Its members are called to live according to God’s will and to pursue righteousness, love, and justice, and to be a witness to the world, sharing the good news of salvation through Christ while demonstrating the love and compassion of God.

But as I lived a transformation, I began to understand Romans 12:2 more vividly! The emphasis shifted to the word ‘this’ – as in this current world that we have inherited. I liken the world to a caterpillar before expanding into its complete fullness as a butterfly.

God’s ‘no’ was an invitation away from this caterpillar world into a chrysalis of mind-renewing, worldview-shifting, faith-building, sacred imagination-invoking, creativity-inducing transformation. The chrysalis held space for me to learn, read, study, examine, research, review my past, and grow. I had to question every custom, pattern, belief, mindset, practice, and lie that racism tells us. I had to disclose every learned narrative that racializes our futures.

The chrysalis demanded an investment – prayer, action, and courage to become a new creature. I committed to new thinking, new imagining, new living, walking, and talking. The transformation was excruciating! It was scary. But it was also empowering and at times, hilarious. 

Now, I look at my family, a reflection of God’s image, love, justice, and belonging, and I understand God’s no all those years ago. My family does not need a wife and mom who can contribute more church and theological vernacular. Our community does not need me to build a social media platform on a so-called ‘hot topic,’ invoke fear, judge or cancel people, or align with a political party. They don’t need me to profess quick fixes and organizational Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs, or use spiritual by-passing to avoid the realities of racism. 

My family and community need a wife, mom, and friend who, like a butterfly, has experienced transformation – for whom bridges are obsolete because she can fly. And as she flies, she sees, creates, and navigates a way forward – not just for her family, but for everyone who dares to see her. 

We all want to discern what God’s will is, what He finds good, pleasing, and complete. Discernment is on the other side of delving deep into understanding, developing new beliefs and practices over years of rewiring our brains, disrupting old pathways, and creating new pathways – literally changing the way we think and perceive! 

It all begins with one step. One day. One honest truth at a time. Whether you are called to delve deep into the topic of racism like I am, or God has illuminated another area of brokenness that needs His renewing truth and hope, we can trust that God will lead us to become the women this world needs.

Caterpillars are born with all the parts to become a butterfly. But it is only through the liquifying process within the chrysalis that the butterfly can emerge, transformed, new, and complete with the power to fly. 

Though God’s no’s can be painful, they can also be an invitation to go from crawling to flying.

 

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When You Have a Nasty Neighbor

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“See that house next door?” My friend pointed out her window.

“If our church wasn’t so close, I’d move in a heartbeat. She’s a horrible neighbor and there’s nothing I can do to please her. I know from your Just Open the Door Bible study that we’re supposed to neighbor well, but you don’t understand. She’s impossible.”

I empathized with her situation of challenging neighbors. Last year, we bought an old house to fix up and use as a hospitality home for my newly formed non-profit organization. The Becoming Cottage has already generated a legacy of welcome as I’ve hosted so many women in this small, ordinary space. Yet no amount of baked cookies, encouraging notes, and neighborly kindness has cracked the “Love your neighbor as yourself” code for the property owners behind us.

“I do understand,” I told my friend, “But I also know you have the opportunity to change the culture on your street if we can figure out what it means to really love this neighbor. Not with an agenda. Not as a project. But seeking to understand her story, her deep need. Have you reached out recently?”

She sputtered a bit at my challenge.

Love is hard and I throw that word around much too liberally. I love my morning coffee. I love thrifting. I love spending time with our children. I love French fries dipped in Chick-fil-a sauce. There are so many things I attach the word love to. It’s birthed from my passion and zeal for life, but I don’t want to become numb to the fullness and depth of its true, biblical meaning.

Nothing compares to the love that Jesus spoke about when challenged by one of the Pharisees:

“Teacher, which command in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and most important command. The second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commands.”
Matt. 22:36-40

The word ‘love’ used here stems from the Greek word agape. Agape is defined as “the highest form of love, charity as it embraces a deep and profound sacrificial love that transcends and persists regardless of circumstance.”

My friend and I fleshed out the Greatest Commandment using personal examples, and it convicted us.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength even when you can’t fathom the loss of your son or mother.

Love Him when you’re unemployed and struggling to pay the next bill.

Love Him when you’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer, and are terrified of what the future holds.

Love Him when you’re filled with doubt, but feel He’s silent on the matter.

Love the Lord your God with everything you have, even when situations are out of your control.

Here’s the next big challenge. Jesus didn’t pause and ponder part two of His command. He didn’t divide these two instructions into an either/or situation. If we are to make a Gospel impact on those around us, then the way we love our neighbor reveals something about the way we love God. And the way we love God reveals something about the way we love our neighbor. I’ve declared this for years, but to walk it out calls for pouring out selflessly and how often do we choose that?

So many church websites and t-shirts are filled with the exhortation, “Love God and Love Others” and we cosign with a resounding yes! Yet often when the challenging opportunities arise to love sacrificially and surrender our own preferences, we want an easier choice. But God’s commands to love imply even when…

Love your neighbor even when they claim credit for your work.
Love your neighbor even after she un-invites your daughter to a party.
Love your neighbor even when she’s talking about you behind your back.
Love your neighbor even when they report you to the HOA over a meaningless first-world problem.

I’m sure you can fill in your own blank here, but when we walk this out, there’s hope.

Months after our lunch, my friend stepped forward in faith, praying expectantly that she’d release seeds of resentment and have a heart change for her “nasty neighbor.” (Her words, not mine.) I chuckled when she first sent her husband next door as a buffer. He offered to help with yard work and she told me it counted as her first baby step of obedience. Loving their neighbor grew as she then extended a cookout invitation. Shocked at the offer, the neighbors accepted and five years of bitter barriers began crumbling. The hardships shared over brownies and coffee revealed the neighbor’s exaggerated HOA response. Apologies were offered and forgiveness was received. My friends had no idea of their neighbor’s difficulties, but by listening to her story, her deep need was expressed.

A neighboring miracle occurred when she gave the benefit of the doubt. Instead of fueling anger or assuming the worst, a foundation was laid to reach her neighbors for Christ. How different it could have been without extending that one uncomfortable, but simple invitation that changed everything.

Let that be us. Let’s be so fully alive in Him that when we pour into others a spirit of welcome and kindness, there’s no doubt from where that agape love stems.

What neighbor can you love today?

 

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We Need to Be Rooted Before Storms Come

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These last several weeks the skies have been steely gray and mostly rainy, which feels very out of character for Central California where I live. We’ve had unprecedented rain throughout the state since January. In fact, we’ve had so much rain that we’ve already more than doubled the amount of rain for a normal year.

Let’s be clear: we desperately need rain. 

California has been in a drought for years, but this unprecedented rain is also wreaking havoc on the Golden State. Flooding has gutted roads, bridges, and neighborhoods. There aren’t good systems in place to hold the water. Houses, power lines, and cars have been damaged because of large trees falling. A tree recently took out the stoplight at one of the main intersections near my house. Meanwhile, snow abounds in the mountains, which looks beautiful from my balcony but also compounds the flooding problems here in the valley.

On the trails where I run, I daily see the ramifications of these storms and floods. Our beautiful, tree-lined paths are water-logged and washed out in parts. Mud and puddles last for days. Many of the trees are leaning dangerously to one side in the marshy ground. 

When I was out on a run a few weeks ago, I passed a tree that made me stop in my tracks. I called out to my friend who was with me to wait, and then ran back to examine it. The tree was completely toppled, but strangely there was no evidence of roots. I investigated and there was no stump nearby either.

I looked at my friend and said, “That’ll preach.”

Is it any surprise that a tree without roots would be among the first to fall when a storm comes?

That tree was preaching a sermon to me about the importance of being rooted. 

What I have learned about roots is they are vital to the tree. The roots allow nutrients from water to enter the tree and be transported to the branches and leaves. Tree roots also take nutrients and chemicals from the soil and use them to produce what a tree needs for growth, development, and repair. Tree roots anchor a tree in the soil, keeping it straight and stable. 

This is why a tree without roots couldn’t withstand the rainstorm.

The roots of a tree grow underground. They are not seen by those above ground. We might compare this to our private life with Christ. If we want strong spiritual roots, we need to grow a personal relationship with God. We strengthen our roots when we pray, read our Bibles, and worship in various forms. The important growth and connection happens when no one else is watching.

In his letter to the church at Colossae, the apostle Paul talks about the importance of staying rooted in Christ:

“And now, just as you accepted Christ Jesus as your Lord, you must continue to follow him. Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.”
Colossians 2:6-8

In the Colossian church, there was a problem with dangerous false teachings creeping in. Paul provides both warnings and teachings through his letter, encouraging the people to find their identity in Christ and follow Him.

As I kept running along the trail, I spotted another fallen tree. This tree had obvious roots protruding from her trunk. She was fully laying down on the ground — uprooted by the storm — but she also had tiny pink blooms all over her branches.

That’s right, she was knocked down by the storm, but she was still blooming. Let that thought root in your heart. She had been uprooted, but there was still evidence of life on this tree.

I do believe it’s possible for someone to bloom even when they are knocked down, even when they are navigating intense trials, even when they are grieving.

These two trees taught me one important truth: storms reveal our roots.

We may think a tree looks strong and sturdy from above ground, but the rains, wind, and storms of life will reveal its true root system.

This motivates me in my daily choices and soul practices to carve out that time to read and study the Bible, listen to worship music in the car with my kids, go on prayer runs, or connect regularly with friends who keep me accountable in my faith walk. These little things matter. It’s not about checking boxes or striving to do things perfectly. Every little bit of time we humbly offer to Jesus allows us to grow.

Friend, let’s remember the call to stay rooted in Christ. Once the storm comes, it’s too late to begin. The goal is to remain rooted in His love and abide in His presence so we can stand strong through all kinds of weather.

Dorina has a new children’s book, Chasing God’s Glory, that leads kids of all ages to discover God and His glory on life’s trails. Find details about the new book and Dorina’s other offerings here! 

 

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What We Think About Matters

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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. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.
Philippians 4:8-9

It’s easy to get bogged down by the pressures and sorrows of daily life. It’s easy to think about what is discouraging and disappointing. It’s easy to fixate on what is painful or frustrating or half true.

Have you been there? Perhaps you find yourself trapped by tapes playing in your head that say things like, “You’re never going to be good enough. This hard situation will never get resolved. That person will never change and my struggle will always be this way.”

God knows that in a broken world it’s easy to think about the brokenness; in a sinful world it’s easy call out the sin, or give into it. But sin and brokenness are not the end of the story! We’ve got to live like it. This is why Scripture is clear that what we think about matters.

If you are lacking peace in your life today, it’s probably time to take a look at your thought life. What are you telling yourself? What messages from the world are you letting influence you? Are you spending time intentionally thinking about the things of God? Things that reflect His character and kingdom?

God has your best interest at heart. So He invites you to dwell on what is pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy. He invites you to rest in His peace.

 

God Is for Us All

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We are the moms who hug, dance, and snuggle. We are the moms who get overwhelmed, whose snarls sometimes come easier than our smiles. We are the moms who live in the push-pull of exhaustion and joy, in the tumultuous world of feelings and giving all of ourselves.

We are the moms who pray our children will fly while a tiny part of our heart grieves their flight from us, because we are the moms who love those children with every fiber of our being. We’re not sure where they end and we begin, but we know we didn’t begin until they arrived.

We are the moms who work around the clock in a million different ways. Praying. Cooking. Cleaning up. Carpooling to school and dropping off at daycare. Guiding. Loving, always loving. Scolding and worrying. Kissing boo-boos and wiping tears. Breathing deep, in and out, over and over. Chasing their feet and their hearts. Answering emails in the middle of the night. Pulling them back and drawing them in and sending them out. Scrubbing toilets and remembering details and packing lunches and signing papers and pouring out.

We are the moms who love children we didn’t birth. We are the neighbors, aunties, sisters, friends, and church grandmas who love these kids as though they’re our own. We snuggle up to beloved little ones during the sermon at church and pass them hard candies to squelch the wiggles. We attend birthday parties and graduations and weddings, bearing gifts for these dear hearts, setting up tables and making food, and then cleaning up at the end of the day. We rock little babies and help big kids pack for college, tearing up at the thought of them driving away. We light up when our phone dings with a text from a precious high schooler. We read stories and sing songs and carefully choose cards to pop in the mail for every holiday.

We are the moms who haven’t had a night out in ages, and who crave one like oxygen. Who run on grace and caffeine. Who build a meal off of the scraps pilfered from kids’ plates. Who go through more coffee shop drive-thrus than we care to admit. Who are exhausted from being “on” all day at work, and coming home to be “on” longer still.

We are the moms who drive through McDonald’s for milk because we ran out and just cannot drag ourselves into the actual grocery store. Who pay for a latte in change dug out from between the minivan seats. Who cannot make it to church without bickering with our family on the drive. Who are consistently seven minutes late to every appointment. Who perpetually lose socks to the washing machine, and have been known to purchase new underwear instead of washing the pairs we already own. Who take our alone time seriously and guard it fiercely — just like we do our kids.

We are the moms who long for more. More grace. More patience. More coffee. More time (always more time). More space in home and heart. More money. More sleep. More Christ in us. More life in our days. More quiet.

At the same time, we are the moms who long for less. Less laundry. Less fighting. Less yelling. Less clutter. Less selfishness. Less guilt. Less busy. Less stuff. Less dust. Less hustle.

We are the moms who sit in the hallway in tears during bedtime, drained. The moms who sit in empty houses in tears because there are no more babies to tuck in at bedtime. We are the moms who ache for those we’ve lost, for those we’ve wanted, for those we’ve asked for, for those we’ve begged God about and bruised our knees over in earnest prayer. For the babies we couldn’t carry. For the children we’ve lost to heaven and red tape. For the grown children we couldn’t hold on to as they flew our coop to make their lives. For waywards and prodigals and could’ve-beens.

We love this life even when we don’t like it. We love these kids with all of our beings — even when we may not like them very much. We thank God for the gift of love He gives in the form of sticky hands, flown coops, late nights, early mornings, birthday celebrations, cards in the mail, trips to see each other, texts sent, calls placed, and prayers whispered.

We are these moms, and God is for us all.

As Mother’s Day approaches, we know that it is a complex day full of many emotions and experiences. Know that at (in)courage, we are praying for each of you in this season as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what it means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, and nurtures those who become part of the next generation is doing amazing work and is to be celebrated.

Above is an excerpt from our book, A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom, which is full of reflections on God’s heart. Featuring unique and diverse stories from the (in)courage community, A Mother’s Love offers heartfelt encouragement to all kinds of moms, whether they’re a mother in a traditional sense, a spiritual mother, or a mother-like figure who breaks the mold. This book is sure to help any woman share a meaningful gift with someone who has been impactful in her life, a new mom learning the ropes, or a close loved one facing the joys and challenges of any stage and type of motherhood. Compiled with all women in mind so we can celebrate those who made us, shaped us, helped us grow, and loved us well, A Mother’s Love is a beautiful gift for the moms in your life.

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Listen in today for a bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast as Becky Keife speaks with author Bonnie Gray! They discuss Bonnie’s new book, Breathe. Listen to the player below or wherever you stream pods!

The Blessing of Being Rooted

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The alarm is set to seven in the morning, but my body listens to the sun barely waking up over the horizon and together we start the day. I fumble around for my glasses, slow-motion my way out of bed, into my robe, and tiptoe into the darkness of the house. It’s quiet and still, and I breathe in the peace of the morning with a deep sigh.

I walk to the kitchen to brew our favorite hazelnut coffee, and as I go through the motions of filling the coffeemaker, I’m overcome by how much I love this, all of this – the life I have, in this home, with my family, in our suburb. It’s altogether strange and wonderful considering how far from this I’d felt for years.

For most of my life, I considered suburbia to be too curated, too boring, too suffocating. To my passionate young self who wanted to live a missionary’s life overseas as I had done growing up, the idea of settling down in a comfortable, convenient place was out of the question for my future. But for some unknown reason, God considered it right and good to bring me back to this place and for me to call it home. Even the mundane rhythms of mothering and homemaking that I once despised have become the very things that keep me grounded and at peace. And the most surprising part has been my renewed love for my local church and her people, my people.

I’m genuinely content and, dare I even say, happy. It’s a strange statement to say out loud, but I’m receiving its truth with tender care. But as I wonder how I got here, I’m beginning to name what shifted for me to see things the way I do now.

One thing I can point to is my decision to be rooted where I am, to choose to love the place I’m in and the people I do life with inside and outside my home. Sometime after the thick of pandemic grief, I started saying that I want to create flourishing wherever I go, wherever I am, and that perspective has changed the way I see myself in my current circumstance. Instead of weighing how much I’m giving up to be where I am against what I’m gaining in return, I simply live fully as I am and offer myself wholly and authentically to the world that is. It’s living and loving generously, vulnerably, and graciously, and my goodness, is it life-giving.

I think of Jeremiah 29:4-7: “This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: ‘Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.’”

Perhaps these words were difficult to comprehend for the exiles who were displaced in Babylon. “How, God?” they may have pleaded. And this is what I hear the Lord saying to them, to me, to us: “One thing at a time – build, plant, settle in. Be rooted where you are. Live your life, and invest in the flourishing of the place you’re in, of the people you’re with.”

And one day soon, you’ll wake up and go through the motions of a very ordinary day and see that the seeds of flourishing you sowed are blooming into an abundant garden of life and joy right where you are.

 

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Your Pastor’s Wife Needs Friends Too

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I checked my phone all Sunday afternoon. While I was driving home from church. While I was lounging on my living room couch, watching a show. While I was getting dinner ready that evening. I was waiting for that small green notification to pop up on my screen, telling me I’d received a new text message.

I had given my cell phone number to a woman at church that morning and told her to reach out. Maybe we could meet up for coffee or a walk. You know, the things that normal friends do. In terms of my schedule, I was wide open that upcoming week, which I told her. Based on the excitement in our conversation, I figured she would have texted by now.

But the hours turned to days and the days turned into weeks, and I didn’t hear from her.

About two months later, I bumped into the same gal at church and finally got the courage to ask her, “Hey, how come you never texted me?”

She had a sheepish look on her face as she replied, “Sorry! I just assumed you were busy.”

I assured her that my life was just as averagely busy as the next person’s, but I did genuinely want to get to know her better. We can be as busy or unbusy as we want to be, right? When it comes to friendships, I’d like to think that I’m pretty flexible with my schedule and willing to shift things around to make a hang-out possible.

We eventually did get together (and still do hang out)! But the woman’s initial response stuck with me. I have heard words like hers over and over again as a pastor’s wife.

This general assumption that pastors’ wives are super busy is honestly one of the hardest things for me about being a pastor’s wife.

In my twelve-plus years as a pastor’s wife, I’ve regularly battled loneliness. Folks often put pastors’ wives on unfair pedestals, making assumptions about who we are, our accessibility, and even what kind of leadership we should have in the church. Sometimes, people think I’m out doing ministry on the streets 24/7. But, in all honesty, I’m not any busier than the next person, and I need friends just as much as everyone else.

There is a faulty perception in our society today that being productive equates to busyness. We often think that because someone is doing a lot (in my case, writing books and homeschooling, among other things) that they don’t have time in their schedule to hang out.

When we choose to assume someone is too busy to meet up, we create barriers to beautiful God-honoring friendships.

One of the things that I love about Jesus’ ministry is that He never made assumptions about people. He never thought to Himself, “Man, I’d really like to hang out with this person, but I’m sure they’re too busy.” In fact, He just went to people.

In Luke 19, we see how Jesus goes to Zacchaeus and invites Himself over to his house. Jesus literally tells Zacchaeus, while the man is up in a tree no less, that He wants to meet him. And He’s not deterred by a crowd who thinks Jesus’ time would be better spent elsewhere.

There is a beautiful relentlessness in the way Jesus pursued people, and I truly believe pastors’ wives are in need of a similar kind of relentlessness.

It’s challenging when everyone knows bits and pieces of your life as a pastor’s wife, without fully knowing you. Sometimes we’re seen as pastoras, as fellow pastors with our husbands, and all the expectations that come with that. “Hey, how come you’re not teaching at church?” “Why don’t you lead any ministries?” “Why weren’t you at that church event?” The congregation even knows a lot about our marriage to our spouse because our pastor-husbands use our relationship as fodder for sermon examples and as advice in mentoring relationships (and I don’t say that in a negative way).

To an extent, everyone thinks they know the pastor’s wife, and yet far too often no one hangs out with her.

What a pastor’s wife needs is folks in their church who intentionally choose to leave their assumptions at the door. Instead of assuming she’s too busy to meet up, reach out and ask, “Hey, want some company this week?” or “Hey, can I bring some coffee over?”

When it comes to building friendships, pastor’s wives (like everyone else) need to be given the options of “yes,” “no,” “maybe,” or “how about later?”

Rather than assuming that your pastor’s wife has enough friends, doesn’t need encouragement, or is too busy to meet, just ask. Show up. Love on her. Bring her food or a bouquet of flowers, like you would any other friend. Be a shoulder to cry on, or someone to offer a safe listening ear.

Can a pastor’s wife (myself included) be the one to pursue a new friendship? Absolutely. But when you’re in the position of always being expected to initiate or that you’re already relationally full, sometimes it’s really nice to know that someone else cares enough to take that first step.

Just remember: your pastor’s wife needs friends too, and you might just be the exact person she’s been praying would reach out.

 

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