What to Do When Grief Makes Us Angry

What to Do When Grief Makes Us Angry

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My midwife told me when I was birthing my second baby girl that if I held my breath the contractions would hurt even more. My natural reaction in pain is to tense my muscles and hold my breath to avoid the pain. In childbirth, I needed deep, long, measured breaths to carry me through the pain. Somehow breathing through the pain helped release the pressure instead of holding it at bay until it tumbled like water crashing over a dam.

In my journey of loss, I have learned that, as in labor, we have to breathe through the contractions, the triggers, and the sorrow of grief. Though grief can often feel like a slow, dull ache, there are also times when our grief journeys will feel more intense, like quickened contractions in childbirth or what they call “transition”— that intense period when contractions come right on top of each other before the baby is born.

In Genesis 32, we read about Jacob seeing God face-to-face in his time of need. Jacob is in a hard place. He is fresh out of a crisis with his uncle Laban. He feels distressed and afraid because his brother Esau and four hundred of his men are making their way toward him (Genesis 32:7).

Jacob decides to take his two wives, two female servants, and his eleven children (his closest people) with him across the Jabbok River to protect them. After he sends them to relative safety, he is jumped by a stranger who wrestles with him through the night. 

“When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.” But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”
Genesis 32:25-26 NIV

The man asked Jacob his name and then proceeded to rename him Israel because he struggled with God and with humans, and overcame. 

Jacob said, “Please tell me your name.” But he replied, “Why do you ask my name?” Then he blessed him there.” Genesis 32:29 NIV

Jacob was afraid, alone, and physically broken — but that is the precise moment when God chose to bless him. God entered the challenge with Jacob, which may have been a spiritual battle as much as a physical wrestling, and then changed his name to Israel and honored him for prevailing through the wrestling match.

This scene is a good reminder that God can handle our anger, our frustration, our doubts, and our discouragement.

He is with us in our grief even when we are wrestling spiritually.

Friend, I know it might be tempting to just grit your teeth and power through, but expressing our anger and frustration to God can actually help us emerge on the other side with resilience and strength. It’s like breathing through the most intense contractions and releasing the pressure instead of holding our breath through the pain.

You may feel angry about the death of your loved one or the injustice your child experienced. You might feel frustrated that your family has experienced loss. It’s not wrong to have those feelings.

In Ephesians 4:26–27, Paul reminds us: “Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil” (ESV). In this passage, Paul isn’t saying we should never be angry. He acknowledges that anger may rise in us, but it shouldn’t cause us to sin.

Acknowledge your hard-to-handle feelings. Shout them to God. Breathe through the pain, and be on guard, as Paul highlights, to ensure you do not dwell in your anger or give the devil a foothold. 

I struggled through many of those feelings after my husband died from cancer. I questioned and cried, wrestled and wrung my hands. I laid my lament at Jesus’s feet day after day. Little by little, I learned to breathe through the contractions, and that’s where a deep healing and trust in God were born.

Is there something you are grieving today? Is there a circumstance that makes you angry that you need to name? Write it down or share in the comments.

Pray this prayer with me:

Dear Lord,
Like Jacob, I am wrestling today.
I am feeling the weight of frustration and anger.
Meet me in those feelings.
Help me to see where You are at work in the circumstances.
Give me the fortitude to keep fighting until I reach the truth.
I long to see Your face like Jacob did amid my own struggle.
I long for Your blessing.
In Jesus’s name,
Amen.

—

After the sudden loss of her husband, Dorina felt lost in her grief. In her new guided journal, Breathing Through Grief, she provides a compassionate, giftable resource for those who are processing their own loss, whether of a loved one, a season of life, or a dream. In addition to the twenty-five short devotions that each focus on a different aspect of grief from Dorina’s personal experience, the journal includes special resources such as:

  • breathing exercises
  • reflection questions
  • soul care tips
  • ample writing space
  • advice on how to talk to children about death
  • suggestions on how to approach triggers
  • creative ways to honor a loved one’s memory

If you or someone close to you is walking through loss⁠, let the comforting words in Breathing Through Grief encourage you with the knowledge that you are not alone and bring you a semblance of peace as you continue forward on the road to healing.

We know this book 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 Dorina. Don’t miss it!

 

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

Sheep, Hot Chocolate, and Childlike Faith

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I, not unlike Taylor Swift, was born in 1989. I am a 30-something, work a full-time job, and do boring grown-up things like pay bills and say things like, “I really need to go get my oil changed.” When I was a child, I was imaginative and built a play post office in my room that no one came to (because why would they mail something from a pretend post office?) and I had the occasional imaginary friend. I spent my afternoons and weekends pretending, playing Nintendo, and riding bikes around a local church’s giant parking lot with the neighborhood boys.

But one day, I just…grew up. I stopped imagining so much and hopping around so much and laughing so hard and yelling with excitement. And like all of us… I changed. And that’s a good thing! It’s fine to mature, slow down, and settle in a bit. But the other day, I was at a church retreat and I was greeted by a 3-year-old in a wool dress, who grabbed her hem and very joyfully announced to me, “This dress is made of SHEEP.”

Something in me clicked back to that childlike joy and I said to her, “Really??”

She smiled and said, “YES.”

This was big news. This was good news. This was fun news. And we talked about how neat it is that a sheep has wool and we can turn it into things like her purple dress.

I don’t have conversations like that with my friends in small group. I know that wool exists, but I don’t go telling people how it’s made. To children, everything is interesting and everything has a bigger headline.

You can make a dress out of sheep!
The moon is in the sky at night!
If you push a button, you can take a photo!

As the church retreat went on, I noticed this little pack of children running around, throwing themselves into every activity they did, endlessly showing off their friendship bracelets. One boy spent the weekend running, lying down on the ground, and whispering, “Safe!” because he was a baseball player. Another boy was so eager to see my flying drone that he had to be held back so he wouldn’t try to grab it as it hovered near the ground.

There was no formal childcare at the retreat. Instead, we took turns looking after the kids, making sure they didn’t escape the dining hall, and asking if anyone needed help. One father who was there with his two kids held a crying two-year-old. We asked, “What do you need?”

“It would make my life a LOT easier if someone would refill the hot water so he can have some hot chocolate.”

So we went to the kitchen staff and we got some water and we brought back a mug of hot chocolate and it resolved the big feelings of a previously upset toddler.

I believe that children’s church is a fine thing and ministry events geared toward kids are a gift. But as adults, we often miss out when we don’t put ourselves in the midst of our youngest congregants. We forget that we were once children, running around and spreading the news about every little thing. After all, Jesus says He wants us to come to Him like children.

 At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:1-3 (ESV)

Become like children. Uninhibited. Free. Not holding back or wondering what people will think.

On the last morning of the retreat, a young adult named Danner stood near the table where kids were doing crafts and he said, “I want to help with the kids but I never know what to say to them.”

“I find that if I just ask them basic questions, they’re good to go,” I offered.

Just in front of us, the Sheep Dress Gal was trying to glue wings on a puppet. I leaned over and said, “What do you need?”

“I need help with this chicken,” she said so simply.

“Okay, great. Mr. Danner is going to help you.”

I waved him over and watched as he held a glue stick and then used his bigger hands to press the felt together, offering the simplest support. And I wonder if this is what Jesus meant when he invited us to be childlike. Perhaps we’ve been invited to not overthink and just slow down and ask questions. To notice the very obvious and celebrate the very ordinary. To delight in others and in little wonders. To kneel down and offer a hand.

Because the Kingdom is for all of us, even those who can’t quite read or pay bills or get the oil changed, and when we invite their joy and wonder and delight, we see the Kingdom better.

 

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

Finding Gratitude in the Good and Bad

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A friend recently asked me a question. It came out of nowhere, making me pause and, at the same time, sending my memory down a path that seemingly had only two possibilities. You see, my friend is raising teenagers and sees life through their eyes. She’s seeing the wonder of their innocence, all while scanning her adult mind to predict the moments — and therefore memories — that could come to pass.

When you remember your childhood, is it good? Or is it bad? That’s what she asked. A simple survey between long-time friends. A focus group of comfort, support, and sheer honesty. She wanted my knee-jerk answer. A response off the cuff. Such a profound question had me searching thirty-seven years of memories in attempt to answer her ,As someone who loves the art of stringing a few words together, I gave my big picture answer — childhood was bad. But . . . when I really let myself think through the details of my childhood, then my answer changes — childhood was good. And, I know, it’s not the data she was hoping to collect. To answer both “good” and “bad” meant she’d have to tally both sides. Why bother even recording my answer at all?

The thought lingered in my mind. Then came a wave of nostalgia, a fistful of regret, a pinch of shame, and an outpouring of memories that needed to be pieced together like a puzzle. So, one by one I put the thousands of tiny pieces together until they snapped into place, creating a big picture that made sense of everything that came to my mind. Here is what I realized . . .

It’s as if the most painful memories are the most prominent ones. When asked about my childhood, the first memories that come to mind are those of me moving and saying goodbye to friends when I was in the sixth grade. Then there are the fragmented memories of my parents arguing, me crying whenever I was left out by friends, being teased at school, and fights with siblings.

Still, as soon as these images flashed across my mind . . . so, too, did a few others. As I thought a little deeper, digging into the details of my youth, I remembered my mom writing special notes on white paper napkins and tucking them inside our school lunch boxes. I remember my grandma making brownies with us and letting me lick the bowl of batter. I remember wearing matching nighties with my sister and the way our freshly showered, damp hair drapped down our backs as we watched I Love Lucy with our mom.

I wonder, is this how I view God and His gifts? Do miss the good because I paint a wide brush stroke over all the things that I call bad? Deep down, do I ultimately think that God simply doesn’t care—when I see people battling cancer, find myself still single after divorce, or watch the world suffer in heartache. “Bad” would certainly be the word I’d label life if I only glanced at the big picture.

Perhaps a heart of gratitude reaches a little deeper, finding God’s goodness in the smallest of moments — an intimate smile shared between patients in a waiting room. The newfound joy someone who is blind finds when wrapping his arms around his guide dog. The comfort of a friend sending a thoughtful card or text that simply says, “I’m praying for you.”

These intricate details are like the soft petals of flowers that make up a full bouquet. So beautiful up close and yet they still matter when looked at all together. And as I reflect during this season of thanks, I want my heart to overflow with gratitude for the One who made me and etched out every small piece of my story. Because now, and even then — in my childhood when I felt the sting of tears in my eyes —I see the goodness of God.

God’s goodness is all around us despite the tragedies that strike this broken earth.

No matter what this chapter of life holds, I know God is a good Author. He is the One who sent a neighbor to look over me even though I was sad to live alone. He is the One who sent strong Christian women to befriend me when I was weak and weary after divorce. He is the One who brought me into a church small group with real women who love genuinely and laugh from the soul.

God loves us so much that He weaves goodness into our every moments — even the bad ones. We might be delighted — even surprised — to look back and see how He was there through it all, giving us good gifts and grace . . . like napkin notes in a lunchbox on a bad day.

And for that, I am truly thankful.

Where Will Your Help Come From?

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I lift my eyes toward the mountains.
Where will my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not allow your foot to slip;
your Protector will not slumber.
Indeed, the Protector of Israel
does not slumber or sleep.
The Lord protects you;
the Lord is a shelter right by your side.
The sun will not strike you by day
or the moon by night.
The Lord will protect you from all harm;
he will protect your life. 
The Lord will protect your coming and going
both now and forever.
Psalm 121 (CSB)

When everything seems impossible, when taking the next step seems unbearable, we shout and cry, loudly and silently, asking God to come through, to help. Our prayers don’t go out to a void that can’t reply back to us. Our prayers ascend to the Maker of heaven and earth, and He is ready at all times to hear us, help us, and be with us.

 

When You Feel Alone in the Struggle

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I’ve never thought of myself as an “us versus them” kind of girl. I’m the person who tried never to exclude people at the fourth-grade lunch table because I just so badly wanted to be included. Making sure everyone belonged, every time, was a badge I wore as proudly as the ones I stapled onto my Girl Scout sash in elementary school. (I obviously never earned my sewing badge.)

One of the ways I have been most proud of including people is in my stories that deal with being overweight. If you love me, you might call me “curvy” or “Rubenesque.” But if you’re on the internet, hidden by a computer screen, you might call me “huge” or “gross.” I’ve been called both. By Christians. In God’s love, of course. Because, as I’ve been reminded over and over again, “gluttony is a sin.”

So I wrote an article for all my curvy friends who struggle with their weight. I wrote to say that while you may not always love your body size, God can use it, because others who see your struggle can know that you are a safe person compared to those who appear perfect.

And I heard from women. A lot of women.

It felt great to give a voice to these women who so often feel like the world is not built for them. I heard from a lot of people who said, “This is exactly my story” or “I feel this so deeply.” So many of us have the same story. Because of our appearance, we’ve felt judged before fully stepping into the room. We’ve felt excluded when people critique our perceived weakness before we’ve even had a conversation with them. We’ve felt like “less than” Christians because of our battle with our weight.

But now we curvy girls had found each other, and we could see each other in our shared imperfection. The presumption was, “You are safe and you are loved exactly as you are.” I was excited to know that women who often feel so “other” were finding a measure of hope and peace through my words. Talking about my weight is never easy, but I’m willing to do it so that someone else can feel more seen and less alone.

Can I be honest with you? I even wanted to start a club for Christian women whose BMI is not socially acceptable. I wanted a permanent safe place where we could build a fort and not let any of those mean voices from our everyday lives (or, even worse, the internet) have the password to get in. I had found my people, and we shopped in the plus-size section.

So, I was a little taken aback by the voice message I got from my newish friend, Becky Keife, who started out by saying, “I just need you to know what an impact your article has had on me.” She went on to say that she had never before thought of her weakness as being a shortcut to connection, and she was grateful to have this new perspective, all because I’d been vulnerable in an article.

Why did I find this odd? Because one look at Becky would confirm that she is not and probably never has been plus-sized. I had to take a beat. Why would she connect with my article about being fat?

And to be perfectly honest, for just a moment I thought, “But I didn’t write this article for you.”

It never occurred to me that someone who didn’t look like me could understand or connect with my experience. I was so busy trying to connect with the people who looked like me that I became the one “othering” someone who felt the same pangs of struggle I did, just with a lower BMI.

You see, what I didn’t know about Becky is that she suffers from clinical anxiety. And my article talked about weakness being a shortcut to trust. My weakness? My weight. Becky’s weakness? Her anxiety.

I guess in my own myopic view I thought that someone like Becky couldn’t understand what it felt like to be outside the scope of socially “normal.” But there she was, in a struggle different from but in many ways so much like my own.

It is small and shortsighted of me to assume that a person is not suffering on the inside just because they look like the world’s version of perfect on the outside. Or that they can’t be used by God in the same way I can because their challenges aren’t as visible as mine.

I know all of this on paper. I just get it mixed up in my mind. And my heart.

I confessed all of this to Becky. My assumptions about her seemingly perfect life without the struggle of weight. The idea that she couldn’t relate to me because we hadn’t worn the same size jeans. I’m so glad I was wrong. Becky may not be in my BMI club, but she showed me that the circle of vulnerability and struggle is much wider than I thought. Showing up with our stories and a healing dose of love and grace was the invitation we both needed to enter into each other’s circles.

Later, Becky texted me this one simple sentence: “Assumptions are barriers to connection, but stories are bridges to understanding.”

Exactly.

By Kathi Lipp, adapted from her chapter in Come Sit with Me.

Today’s devotion is an excerpt by Kathi Lipp from our book Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort. 

Whether you’re in the middle of a conflict without resolution or wondering how to enter into a friend’s pain, this book, with stories from 26 (in)courage writers, will serve as a gentle guide. Discover how God can work through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

You can hear to Kathi read her entire chapter on this bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast! Click here to listen. 

 

God Will Go Anywhere to Pursue You — Even a Gentlemen’s Club

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It was a Friday night when I pulled into the gentlemen’s club where I worked as an exotic dancer. Like many other nights, before the start of a shift, I would sit in my car and contemplate whether I should go in or drive away. I sat there for several minutes deeply conflicted. Searching for every reason not to go in and just feeling dreadful. After coming to the conclusion that there was no other choice (because expenses were high and rent was due), I turned off the engine. Even from the parking lot, I could hear the music blaring inside the club. My heart pounded inside my chest as panic and anxiety took hold of me. In that moment, I desperately prayed: “Dear God, I hate this place! I hate doing this. I have no strength to do this anymore. Could you please protect me and help me find a way out? Thank you, God, for listening. Amen.” 

A sense of peace washed over me like a summer sunrise. I had never prayed like that and it was my first heartfelt cry out to the Lord. As I got out of the car, somehow, in my heart, I knew Jesus had listened and was with me. He had plans to not only rescue me from that dark and degrading place but His will was to completely remake me.

Days after that night, I decided not to work weekends anymore. (The thought of another bachelor party sickened me.) I had started looking for a church and was soon attending services. Although I felt completely out of place at church, there was a comfort there that I had been longing for. As the worship music played, tears of joy trickled down my face. I knew I was experiencing God’s love for the first time.

One Sunday, a greeter handed me a flyer for a women’s event. Initially, I didn’t think that I would go, but when the day arrived, God’s gentle, faint voice encouraged me. Arriving at the event, I chose an empty table. It had a pink tablecloth with permanent markers and name tags. After I scribbled down my name, more women entered the room and filled up the tables. To my surprise, some sat at my table. While we were making introductions, I observed attentively. Doubts raced through my mind and I was filled with thoughts of condemnation. 

The small talk was excruciating and I wondered, How can I tell anyone that I take my clothes off to make a living? Within seconds, the enemy convinced me that I was despicable and that no one would even remotely relate to my struggles. I believed the enemy’s lies that I didn’t belong at that women’s gathering and that I needed to run. I politely excused myself to use the bathroom but ultimately I went straight for the exit doors. Holding back tears, I got to my car and sobbed uncontrollably. I felt unlovable and helpless, and I gave into believing that I would never get out of the adult entertainment industry. 

Weeks later, while working at the club again, I walked out of the dressing room to find four women sitting in a corner across from the main stage. I asked another dancer, “Do you know who those women are?”  

“Oh, them,” she responded. “They’ve been coming here for a few weeks now.” 

“Do you know why they’re here?” I asked curiously. 

“They say they’re with God or something,” she said. Then she told me to just ignore them, though they did give out favor bags — which isn’t exactly a tip, but it’s still better than nothing. That night, I walked past them every time I left the stage. I was careful to not make eye contact or even look in their direction. The following week, they were back again. Only this time, after getting off stage, I felt a faint inclination to slow down when walking by them. The sweetest voice stopped me and asked if I would like a bag she had made for me. Bewildered and appreciative, I took the white paper gift bag and shyly thanked her. Later, in the dressing room, I pulled a book from the gift bag.

The cover of that book? It read Bible. And, well, the rest is history. Because, just as with all stories in the Bible, mine, too, is the story of God leaving the ninety-nine to find the one lost in the wilderness. Jesus is a pursuer — He pursued me relentlessly and He will pursue you too.

He will go anywhere to pursue you, even to the most unlikely of places. For me, He found and met me where I was — a gentlemen’s club. Sometime after that first night I was ministered to, I went back to church and gave my life to Christ. I left the adult entertainment industry and devoted my life to Jesus, not minding what it would look like or where it would take me.

He rescued, remade, and restored me — and I know He can remake you, too.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)

 

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

How to Keep Caring When the News Is Overwhelming

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I swing the door open, breathing in crisp autumn air as our gentle giant Max meanders into the front yard. His floppy ears, animated expressions, and puppy-like paws remind me of a stuffed animal.

Golden light filters through the sun-drenched canopy of leaves. I look up and feel the beams of hope on my face. Decades-old oaks and maples sway in the breeze, shaking off the last vestiges of a verdant summer, dotting the air with leaves falling like feathers from an old down pillow.

Mighty maples flank our 115-year-old home. Their leaves boast rich oranges and robust golds. Squirrels with fat cheeks full of acorns chase each other up and down the trunks, teasing my dog as he sniffs the fallen leaves.

I look at the peeling paint on our front door, the same one that has whispered welcome home to generations of families who have stepped across the threshold. Just beyond the door, backpacks and sneakers fill the entryway as beeps and buzzes from my kids’ video games fill the air.

I exhale alongside a gust of not-yet winter wind. Max sits at attention, waiting for me as I survey the scene brick by brick.

Home.

I don’t know how to reconcile this peace in front of me with the photos I saw earlier in the day. Pictures of homes that used to hold families like mine had turned to rubble, leaving mounds of mortar where grandmothers cooked meals and fathers read stories.

Between work deadlines and school carpools, I had read just enough global news to be aware of countries on the other side of the globe that were waging war, leaving crumbled communities, smoldering streets, and shattered spirits in their wake.

The real-time photographs I scrolled through on my phone looked like a journalist had captured the rubble with black-and-white film, all the city’s color wiped away.

It’s a world away, the headline proclaimed.

But it’s not a world away, I think as my dog rolls in the leaves.

It’s our world, the one God so loved.

All this pain and suffering is happening now. I don’t know how to hold that reality.

How can it be that mothers rock their hungry babies in bomb shelters while my kids eat after-school cookies at the kitchen table, forgetting to put the lid back on the milk?

What does home look like for a family when war robs life of its color, its vibrant hues suddenly grayscale?

I want to rid my mind of the memory of what I’ve seen. I don’t want to hold onto evidence of a warring world, parts of a puzzle I cannot piece together.

It’s easy for me to speak of beauty, hope, and wonder from this view, my view, one of soft breezes and sturdy bricks. Safety and security are words that not everyone gets to write; I know this. 

My heart constricts. Like David in Psalm 13, I ask, How long, O Lord?

Why does clean, fresh water sit in my dog’s bowl inside our well-stocked kitchen while, at the same time, a mother gives her thirsty child contaminated water because it’s all they have to drink?

I realize I’m still standing in the same place, staring at the same view of home like it’s one of those pictures where a new image will appear if you gaze long enough.

When your heart aches with unanswered prayer, when you feel overwhelmed by the weight of a weary world, remember this: God understands the complex wonderings of a human heart.

Moved in mercy, Jesus took on flesh and became like us. In Christ, we are not left alone as we process pain.

God is in the war zone. God is in the autumn breeze.

There is so much we don’t know; this is true. But we can hold stubborn hope that this, too, is true: God is with us.

To be awake to our seemingly ordinary lives – to the leaves that shimmer in the golden light – is also to be tender to the cries of our warring world, the one God so loved.

We live in a world where peace and war swirl, where the sacred and the profane commingle. In one breath, we give thanks in awe of the goodness of God. And in the next, we cry out, asking God how long the pain will last.

When your heart aches for a widow who weeps on the other side of the world, when you cry for a child caught in the crossfires of war, remember that your compassion for humanity reflects the very heart of God.

You cry for another because He first cried for you.

You pray for another because He first prayed for you.

You advocate for another because He first advocated for you.

You love another because He first loved you (1 John 4:19).

In light of God’s compassion, may you be brave enough to stay tender to the world’s beauty and pain. When the world feels off its axis, may hope-soaked sunbeams warm your tear-streaked face. May you experience Christ alongside you – in both the joy and the sorrow that comes with being human and honoring the humanity of another. May God’s mercy move you to extend mercy to another, knowing that we love because He first loved us.

Find more hope to help you stay awake to the beauty and pain of the world in Kayla’s new book Every Season Sacred, a year-long devotional filled with reflections and prayers to nourish your soul as you nurture your family.

 

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

For the Empty Chair at Your Table

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I packed up my car with one suitcase and two sons. We were heading to my home state to visit family and to celebrate my cousin, soon to be married.

It was a short trip, with not much time for driving down old roads or taking trips down memory lane. But I’ve been missing home, been struggling to make sense of the story that once made space for me — the hometown, the high school that holds my history, the church I came to Christ in, and the big city that’s branded me with a birthmark that is hard to lose and let go of.

There weren’t enough hours in the day for taking detours, but that didn’t stop me from making an impromptu stop while driving back south. With the kids in the car, and time not on my side, I made my way down that familiar Route 17 until I reached the place where the road bends sharp with a turn that takes you right to grandma’s house.

Grandma’s house. A house that once held me — a house that gave me a room to sleep in, somewhere to stay in my high school and college years. A house that gathered all us grandchildren on the holidays — every Christmas sprinkled with silver tinsel and every Easter served warm with venison and deviled eggs.

A house built on historic land, land that holds the legacy of my Native tribe as well as the testimony of a small town stitched through and through with lived-out stories of segregated schools and civil rights in New York. A house with a porch built by the tinkering hands of the grandfather I love and now miss so much. . .

I sat in my car, parked in front of that house, holding back tears and stuffing down the sorrow that was tearing at the seams. Because, how do we live holding the heartbreaking truth close to our chest? That the holidays are here, though the ones we love and miss are not. How will we survive the winter weeks ahead, packing up our cars with suitcases and sons as we head home for the holidays knowing all too well that our once-full tables are now empty, bare?

Because, truly, we want to be thankful at Thanksgiving but it is hard when we carry the grief of loved ones gone too soon. We want to celebrate Christmas but sometimes our hearts feel the ache of loss more than they do the awe of Advent.

And, sometimes we don’t always want or need gifts galore and cheerful songs to bring a smile and brighten spirits. Sometimes . . . we just need someone to acknowledge that the ache is real. Sometimes we just need to hear that while hope is true so, too, is the hurt.

Sometimes we need reminders that it’s okay to miss them, and it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to take the long way back simply because you want to drive by the house they once called home. Sometimes you just need to linger longer, staring at their pictures and praying the same prayer for the hundredth time. Sometimes you can’t put a tidy bow on the pain you feel. Sometimes you need permission to grieve, permission to say their names and remember their stories.

Sometimes you need someone to ask you about your grief, to ask you about the one you love and mourn and miss. No platitudes, no putting tidy bows where pain still pulls.

Sometimes we just need someone to make space for sorrow. To allow for the acknowledgment of all we grieve and grieve and grieve. So as the holidays come rushing in with the wind . . . if and when you feel the pressure to push through pain, to push it down, or to pretend it away, might you turn to these words that I wrote a few years ago. Words that still soothe my heart to this day:

If it was ten days ago, even if it was ten years ago. If it was Covid or cancer, a car accident or a circumstance by chance. Even if you hadn’t yet met them. Especially if you haven’t yet met them. Even when sorrow seeps into the season, and when heartache goes without easing. When you long for the loudness of their laughter, or the silent sureness of their presence — the way their hands held space for the holes and whole of you. For the empty chair at your table, the empty place where their plate would be, should be. There is this — a place within your heart that will never sit empty. For that empty chair at your table . . . let there be remembrance in your midst, let their name live on your lips.

As the holidays come rushing in, so do the memories that remind me of my grandfather, and my cousin, and my eccentric friend — all of them gone too soon. So this holiday season, I won’t fight the grief. I will hold hope in one hand and heartache in the other.

This holiday season I will choose to believe that our tears matter to God, the One who cradles all our little losses and greatest griefs. If you need the same, I hope you do the same. For the empty chair at your table, know that Christ dines with you and dwells within you — even and especially in this.

Friends — I’d love to hold space for the memory of your loved ones. Comment below and share the names of the ones you love and miss. I’d love to hear their story and honor their legacy with you.

Experience healing and hope through prose and poems that give space and grace for grief with Rachel’s new book, The Matter of Little Losses.

 

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

Find the Courage to Ask for the Life You Want to Have

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“And all things you ask in prayer, believing, you will receive.”
Matthew 21:22 AMP

“Puffins! Puffins! Look, puffins!” his voice rang out, catching all of our attention. His small frame, not more than ten years old, jumped up and down as he shrieked, “Puffins, Dad! Do you see the puffins?” His dad just smiled, almost apologetically to the rest of us, at his son’s very loud and obvious enthusiasm. I turned to my husband.

“Do you know what a puffin is?” I asked. He shrugged. “Neither do I,” I said. “But I have a feeling they’re amazing!” He laughed.

By the time our boat reached The Region of the Great Puffins, you can bet all of us on board wanted to see these incredibly famous creatures. And they didn’t disappoint. Puffins are precious. Their miniature bodies resemble tiny toucans. Some swam. Others dove down into the water. Some sat majestically perched nearby. There were thousands of them. And, as you might imagine, the young boy’s enthusiasm spread among us with each adorable puffin we saw. We had gone there to see the glaciers, but the puffins stole the show.

I’ll never look at a puffin the same way again. In fact, when my husband, Jack, and I hit a lull during a walk or adventure, one of us often shouts, “Puffins! Puffins!” We immediately laugh. It’s a reminder that joy is a choice. You can be excited about whatever you want. Could be a puffin. Could be a dog. Could be a perfectly made cappuccino. Could be a sunset. Or a shiny geode. There are countless things to delight you if you will just see them through the eyes of a child. Innocent wonder returns you to a place of presence. It frees you from the pains of your past and your fears of what’s to come. Noticing the abundance of the beauty in God’s creation transforms your life into a walking miracle.

I used to live in Africa as a missionary. We didn’t have much money for gifts during that time. So, when it came to my birthday, I decided to ask for a giraffe. Driving home from an errand, I asked God to let me see a giraffe in the wild. When I told my family, they actually laughed. It wasn’t common to see giraffes. But in my heart, I had a feeling I would. In fact, God let me see more than one giraffe that day. He gave me three.

You get what you ask for in this life. So, ask! You get what delights you. Don’t be shy. Take joy in what’s around you. It could be the puffins. It could be a giraffe. Whatever it is, don’t hold back. Ask. Find the courage to ask for the life you want to have.

Jesus, increase my faith for the things that I ask. Amen.

—

This is an excerpt from the new book, It’s All Good: 90 Devotions to Embrace Your Now, written by Heather Hair. This book will guide you to a place of restoration and peace, and you’ll learn how to simply be with God through the Scripture selections, devotions, and prayers.

If you feel stuck in life, you’re not alone.

It’s so easy for us to get trapped in the pain of our past, allowing it to hurt us day after day after day. On the opposite end, our “bucket list” can leave us feeling “bucket lost” when we pursue, pursue, pursue until we realize we’ve lost touch with the present.

In It’s All Good: 90 Devotions to Embrace Your Now, Heather Hair helps us discover that no matter where our feet are planted, God is always present, working out His beautiful plan for us today and always. You’ll find that God is an all-powerful healer who longs to release you from your pains and past hurts. He longs to release you from your daily struggle and relentless pursuit of your future. The good news is that God’s love can overcome our fears and flaws, and healing is possible. After all, learning how to simply be with God — to actually be still, stand in awe, and do nothing in particular — can transform our minds, help our bodies rest, and give us the peace we’re desperate for.

We know you’ll simply love this book! Order your copy today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

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

 

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

What a Sandwich Taught Me About Jesus’s Love

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This year, my family has had the blessing of having numerous immigrant families stay in our home.

Currently, we have a Venezuelan couple living with us, whom we absolutely adore, and who treat our kids like their own nephew and niece.

Recently at lunchtime, the husband and wife offered to make a sandwich for my son. There was bread and meat and all sorts of toppings sprawled on the kitchen counter and, even though my son doesn’t speak Spanish fluently, he could understand their gesture.

In moments like this, I like to stand back and watch how my kids process and engage with other languages. Sometimes, we as parents are too quick to cut in and “help” our kids, when really part of the learning process is letting them figure out meaning and connection on their own.

So, there my son was, taking in the food displayed on our counter, and it was like I could see the wheels turning in his mind.

Sandwiches look unalike from country to country. Different cultures fill sandwiches with varied types of food. Some cultures eat sandwiches open-faced. Others microwave their sandwiches, preferring to eat them hot. The type of sandwich the Venezuelan couple offered my son was very different from anything he had ever eaten. But they were smiling and pointing, and they clearly wanted to care for him.

My son looked at me and said, “Mom, I don’t fully know what they want to make for me, but I’m going to give it a try.”

I was so proud of him as he turned back to the husband with a thumbs up and said, “Si.” He then proceeded to sit down with them and eat the whole sandwich without any complaints or fuss.

Later, when I asked him why he decided to try the sandwich, he said, “I know they wanted to be nice to me, and I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.” I told my son I was so proud of him for being willing to try new things and consider other peoples’ perspectives.

More than that, I told him that by being willing to try something new, he had shown love and honor to this couple the way Jesus wants us to.

It’s not always easy to receive the hospitality of food around other people’s tables, though, is it?

The theology of table fellowship – in which the people of God are to break bread together for the sake of oneness – is writ clear throughout the New Testament, and yet it is a command that is easier said than done.

Put simply: we don’t always like each other’s foods.

In fact, many of us have very strong opinions about what kinds of food taste good, whether a certain dish will sit well in our bodies, and whether or not a dish has the right nutritional value.

If I were to ask you, “What foods do you not like?” you’d probably be able to come up with a long list! Because we think we know the fullness of what we already like, it’s easy to get stuck in our daily eating habits and have zero to little interest in branching out and trying the cuisines of the people around us.

Having favorite foods or comfort foods isn’t a bad thing in and of itself. But when we prioritize eating food that is familiar and comfortable over accepting table fellowship with people whose cuisine is different from what we’re used to, we are missing opportunities to give and receive the love of Christ.

The gift of table fellowship was a powerful lesson that one of Jesus’ disciples, Peter, had to learn the hard way.

In Acts 10, Peter is called to go to the house of a Gentile, a Roman centurion named Cornelius, to share the gospel. While there, he is also invited to eat with the family, which requires eating a new kind of meat. In the past, Peter would have never even dreamed of touching a meat that he considered “unclean.” But God speaks to him in a vision and commands him to dine with this Roman family as a way to show God’s grace and love.

In this radical moment of table fellowship between Jews and Gentiles, in which unfamiliar food is eaten, the Holy Spirit’s power ushers in and all of Cornelius’ family comes to faith.

Want to know why it’s so important to respectfully try other people’s foods? People will see Christ through your efforts to eat the food that they love most. This is the kind of humble love-in-action that looks out for what’s best for others that Paul writes about in Philippians 2.

So, the next time you’re invited to someone else’s home, eat what they cook for you without complaint.

The next time someone invites you out to a restaurant where the menu feels unfamiliar, choose to go joyfully and ask for their help in picking out a meal.

The next time you smell a new food in the cafeteria, at church, or in your workplace, take a deep breath, smile, and genuinely ask the other person to tell you the story of their dish.

The more we embrace people’s foods, the more we show them that we embrace the fullness of their humanity the way God does.

Trying things that are new and getting out of our comfort zones is hard, but sitting in spaces of cultural discomfort for the sake of the gospel is always worth it.

 

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

Let’s Pray!

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“Be assured that from the first day we heard of you, we haven’t stopped praying for you, asking God to give you wise minds and spirits attuned to his will, and so acquire a thorough understanding of the ways in which God works.

We pray that you’ll live well for the Master, making him proud of you as you work hard in his orchard. As you learn more and more how God works, you will learn how to do your work.

We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul—not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength God gives. It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us.”
Colossians 1:9-12 (MSG)

One of our favorite things at (in)courage is linking arms as sisters in Christ through prayer. Today we’re praying the words of Colossians 1:9-12 over you. Go back and read the passage again slowly. There is so much goodness there!

We’d also love to know how to pray for you specifically by name. What’s on your heart today? What area of your life do you want to live more like Jesus? Where do you need His strength or joy today?

Leave your request in the comments and bless another sister by praying for the person before you.

 

How to Make Peace When the World Is a Dumpster Fire

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Several weeks ago, I opened my Instagram feed and noticed some weird activity on a video I had posted many months earlier. Forty-six thousand likes! Have I been hacked? As I clicked on the post, I realized that a fifteen-second video I had made of our neighborhood’s summer block party had unexpectedly gone viral. Wow! This is cool.

The video wasn’t anything special. Just a quick pan of the street from my front porch. Neighbors gathered around folding tables we had set up in the street and kids roamed in packs like happy wild animals. It was my attempt to share a glimpse of our neighborhood magic, and I wrote a quick caption with tips and encouragement to help others engage their neighbors too.

With over two million views, this was obviously striking a chord with people. Again, my first reaction was, “How cool!”

Except it wasn’t all cool.

Most of the comments rolling in were from complete strangers. Some of them were encouraging, but as the video went viral, the comments became anonymous and cutting. For the next several days I had to be really vigilant to delete spammy comments like “DM me and I’ll send you $3,000 tomorrow!” and biting comments like “Must be nice to live in an all-white neighborhood.” My gut reaction was to spew back defensively that my husband is the first Filipino homeowners association president the neighborhood has had and that my Asian kids are the ones on the scooters there to the left. I want to point out Ms. Christina, who goes to the Asian market and brings us special candies and tiger balm every week.

But as I scrolled through nasty comments and messages about our neighborhood, our race, our demographic, and all the unimportant and untrue things being assumed as fact on a post that was meant to stir up kindness, I realized I had to decide how I wanted to treat this dumpster fire.

I could defend myself and add fuel to the blaze. Or I could take a beat and let my pause extinguish the flames.

It seems like more and more, anytime we open our phones and computers, we see someone’s extreme opinions about the latest hot topic — which appears to be almost everything. What a time to be alive, when you can communicate your inner thoughts to pretty much anyone with the click of a Send button!

Chances are you’ve also experienced this phenomenon of the unfiltered response.

I miss not being anxious about relational stress as we approach yet another election year, yet another global health issue, yet another this side versus that side. And before I can even formulate language to describe this anxiety, my body responds for me: I wear my shoulders as earmuffs. My breath quickens. I wince. My brow furrows, blood rushes to my cheeks, and my stomach hurts. If you watch the news, have social media, or talk to a neighbor, you probably know what I mean.

I close the computer and think about it all day. And “it” isn’t just my video gone viral. It’s all the backhanded comments and jumping to false assumptions. It’s the tearing down and creating us-versus-them categories for every possible issue. It’s using our words as weapons and calling it normal. It’s all of it.

I can’t help but think, I wish she hadn’t mentioned that. I wish he hadn’t said it in that way. They make me so mad. Why are people like this? Why can’t we just stop treating each other like this?

And let me say, when I’m about to actively run into an argument after reading Cousin Fred’s entire comments section in his latest fire-breathing post, I instead take a deep breath and consume truth that comes from a living and active God. A God who loves me but isn’t afraid to ask me to check my perspective.

So I pray, I am the problem. Forgive me, Lord, for wanting to murder this person with my words, for believing I am more worthy of Your gift of grace than he is. Give me the supernatural power to love someone I think of as my enemy. I can’t do this on my own.

As believers, we should be people marked not by fear, hatred, or murderous words but by peace. We should desire unity instead of actively seeking out division with our words. We should have the markings of self-control and love, not unbridled tongues that have the power to set the world on fire (see James 3:5–6). I don’t know if I really believed that until the last couple of years, but haven’t we all witnessed the destruction caused by our tongues and how they hold the power of life and death?

We each have personal accounts of our own fractured relationships and devastating losses. But lest this all start to feel a bit depressing, we actually do have great hope. Jesus tells us, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 ESV).

Hear Jesus speaking it to you: “In Me you may have peace. Take heart.” Notice how your body responds to the truth. It’s quite different from scrolling through a social media feed. Maybe, if you’re like me, your shoulders come down and your breath slows. As the words of Scripture settle into my heart, I can see things more clearly: We are too quick to scroll conversations and comment threads and assume we are the only ones who know the correct path. But God is our Good Shepherd. He actively searches to bring us back to Himself, reorient our hearts toward Him, and give us the peace of His guidance, care, and protection — even from ourselves.

We are not on our own when we face difficult circumstances and interactions or when we have to navigate complex relationships and complicated feelings. When we see ourselves and others with the right perspective, we remember that our words, whether written in a comment or spoken out loud, have the power to attest to a better word: God is our only hope in this world. And what good news that it doesn’t rest on our human shoulders!

Ask yourself: Where am I tempted to use my words to tear down or divide instead of to build up and bring peace?

By Jami Nato, excerpted from Come Sit with Me

Hey friends, if you resonated with Jami’s story, or if you are dealing with relational tension of any kind, you’re going to want to get a copy of Come Sit with Me. In addition to Jami’s words, you’ll find 25 other (in)courage writers going first with their own faith wrestling and hope wrangling.

Come Sit With Me is available wherever books are sold, and we’d love to send you the introduction and the first two chapters for FREE! Sign up here.

Plus, listen to a bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast to hear Jami read her whole chapter, “Will You Be a Flamethrower or a Fire Extinguisher in the Dumpster Fire of Internet Comments?” Listen here.

Ministry of Presence: Showing Up for the Grieving Person in Your Life

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From an early age, I knew how to party.

Birthdays? I show up with a present I know you’ll love. I can bake you a cake and decorate it in your favorite colors.

Weddings? My bad dancing does not keep me off the dance floor. I will throw the bridal shower, find the gift on the registry, and stay up late into the night to make sure you feel celebrated. I never needed to be taught how to celebrate you. But you know what I didn’t learn until much later in life?

How to grieve with you.

Until someone I dearly loved died, I didn’t know how to sit with you in your grief. I was so worried about doing the wrong thing that I ended up doing nothing at all.

But, and it’s heartbreaking to say, there are grief experts all around us. Not because they have studied grief, but because they have lived it.

If you are one of the uninitiated, let me tell you what I’m learning about grief: watch those who have walked before us.

There are no magical words that will make a grieving person feel better — and those who have walked the road before know it.

There are things in grief that you don’t know you need, but you do — and those who have lived through grief know it.

When my dad died, we had very few specific ideas for the memorial service, except one thing. My mom wanted a classical guitarist to play. My friend Cheri took on the entirety of that task, including finding the guitarist, providing him with a list of songs my mom wanted, and paying for his services. It was a huge gift, not only to my mom but also to me, because trying to return emails, coordinate logistics, and grieve at the same time was beyond my capacity.

In taking on that one task, Cheri was demonstrating what Paul extolled us to do in Romans 15:12 (NIV):

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

Last year, when my friend Denise lost her husband suddenly, I couldn’t make it to the memorial service due to other things going on. So I contacted her son and asked, “What can I do? Is there something I can pay for? How can I lighten the load?”

He told me that they were having family come back to their home after the service. I could provide the food. It felt lame and not enough, but having been in that position before, I knew that anything taken off the plate was a gift.

Here are a few other ideas to keep on hand when you need to support a grieving friend or loved one.

1. Begin your texts with the letters NNTR (no need to reply). (Yes, texts are a great way to sit with someone in grief.) These four letters allow you to support without burdening the person who needs the support. So I can send a text sending love and support, without the grieving person feeling obligated to reply.

2. Show up. For most of my life, I didn’t go to the funerals or memorial services when a friend lost a loved one because, well, I didn’t know the person. It felt like an intrusion. But what I’ve learned since losing someone I love is that those people show up because they love you and you are important to them. Not many people knew my dad, especially at the end of his life, but people were there for my mom, my brother, and me. Recently, I went to the memorial of someone I never met, not because I was grieving, but because I needed to be there for my friend who was. Not just to grieve with her but to also laugh with her and celebrate a life that was taken too soon.

3. Stop the made-up timelines. Grief looks different to everyone. I figured I would be back to work in a week or so after my dad died. Isn’t that the rule — parents you get a week or two, spouses maybe a month, and then you are expected to move on with life? Grief doesn’t have an expiration date or clear start and stop like a two-week vacation. Your grieving friend will likely need you to check in a month, six months, and a year after a death. Birthdays and wedding anniversaries are important times to reach out as well.

Grief is a sneaky and tricky companion. But grief, for all its anguish, is a needed partner in the days and months to come. And while our grief may never get smaller, the more love and support we experience makes that grief a little easier to carry day to day.

Our support can ease the burden when grief is too much to bear.

Do you know someone who is in a season of grief?
How can you support them this week?

 

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

Next Time You Feel Alone, Picture This…

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Nearly ten years have passed since I witnessed this admittedly ordinary moment, yet every month or two, it comes to mind once again.

The bare tree branches provided a clear view that February morning. If he had looked up, the man in the baseball cap would have seen a college student with a scarf wrapped around her neck, hands in her pockets, momentarily frozen on the sidewalk.

But he never glanced my way. His focus was set, his gaze steady, his stance wide.

Twenty feet to my right, the man leaned over, each outstretched hand firmly holding onto chubby toddler fingers as the little girl practiced walking, slowly shuffling between his legs.

The child moved forward inch by inch, step by shaky step, but even from a distance, I could tell she was safe.

I was two months away from graduation and entirely unsure what life would look like in a matter of weeks. I had a hundred questions and very few answers, but something subtle shifted that morning. There wasn’t an audible voice, no burning bush, no whisper in the winter wind. But in the seconds that passed before I continued on my way to class, a verse came to mind:

“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.”
Isaiah 41:10 NLT

The Message translation says it this way: “Don’t panic. I’m with you. There’s no need to fear for I’m your God. I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you. I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.”

A smile spread across my face as I wrapped my jacket closer, struck by the idea that perhaps this was a very small picture of a much larger truth. Maybe, just maybe, it was a visual for the girl who happens to be a visual learner, a snapshot that would remain frozen in her memory, ready to be remembered when she felt alone, unsteady, or overwhelmed.

Suffice it to say, I started paying special attention to verses that talk about how we’re secure in God’s hands. It didn’t take long before the list began to grow, each one reiterating the promise of Isaiah 41.

In John 10, Jesus says that no one can snatch us from the Father’s hand. In a moment of reflection, the writer of Psalm 73 says, “My feet had almost slipped; I had nearly lost my foothold… Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.” In Psalm 139, we’re assured that even in the deepest dark, God holds on.

Over and over, Scripture seemed to echo itself, doubling down on the promise: we are held secure. God will not let us go and never, not for a single moment, will we find ourselves walking alone.

Our steps might be shaky. We may not be able to see more than one foot ahead. We might feel like our feet are slipping, might worry about what’s around the bend, might be weary from slowly shuffling along for so long.

But as we step into an unknown future . . .

As we walk toward change, walk through what we never saw coming, walk among the ashes of what was or even, perhaps, what will never be . . .

We can rest assured that one thing is absolutely certain: we do not walk alone.

Emmanuel, the God who named Himself “God With Us”, created the entire universe and then, in great humility, made Himself small enough to be held in human hands. The One who formed man from the dust of the ground became the God-man who bent down to write in the dirt, who broke bread and then broke open, arms spread wide and hands pierced even as they reached out. And even then, all the while, He was holding each and every one of us secure, perfectly keeping every promise that was made.

Time has ticked on, but the memory of that tiny wobbly toddler secure in the hands of her father resurfaces regularly. It’s still funny to me that something so ordinary, a moment that lasted no more than half a minute, continues to circle back a decade later. But now, when I feel alone, unsteady, or overwhelmed, I try to picture myself not as the college senior observing from a distance, but as the little girl looking up at the beautifully scarred hands holding mine.

In my imagination, just beyond the hands wrapped around mine, there’s a gentle smile, a little wink, and a kind voice that says, “I had you then and I hold you now. Come what may, I’ve got you.”

His gaze is steady; His grip is secure.

Step by shaky step, we are held all the way Home.

Never, not for one moment, will we find ourselves walking alone.

 

If today’s article resonated and you’d like more encouragement, pick up a copy of 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.

 

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

Weak, Wobbly, and Absolutely No Clue What I’m Doing

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This year, I decided it was time to torture myself by going to grad school to get my masters in Biblical theology. I had no idea what I was getting into and if I did… honestly, I would have said no. This past week our first paper was due and I had several thoughts, one of which was, WHOA, academia is a very new and uncomfortable world for me. Why are you all so obsessed with footnotes? And another was how much I wanted to quit because I was so uncomfortable. 

To tease this out more specifically, I was really afraid of looking stupid and, in essence, weak. It turns out, I don’t know as much as I thought I did about God and faith and the ins and outs of the Bible. I have no clue how to read Greek and Hebrew nor have I been immersed in these cultures. Now that I’m learning new things, I’ve also had to unlearn some of my Western-lensed leanings. The process of unlearning and relearning, tedious research, hours of reading, and re-reading has made the learning curve incredibly steep. 

So let me paint a very clear picture:

I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing, only that I’m being obedient to what I feel God opened a door for me to do. And I am not loving how it’s poking all around at my identity, belonging, and the dreaded ego. The truth is, I am very wobbly, weak, and apparently when you work on a paper for so long, also unkempt. You should see my eyebrows — not cute! 

As we voiced our complaints to one another in our seminary cohort, a classmate reminded us that we are loved and belong whether we get an A or F- on our work. And while it feels heavy right now, she told us to remember this is not our identity. Our identity in Christ doesn’t ebb and flow with how strong and sturdy we are or if we perform well.

This reminder from my classmate might seem basic, but I can think of other times in my life when I’ve felt so disoriented and uncomfortable that I wondered if God would show up for me if I performed poorly or showed weakness. This sounds silly to put in writing… but sometimes telling the uncomfortable truth shows us how we’ve grown or where we need to grow.

Boy, am I painfully aware of how I need to keep growing and keep trusting God with my limitations.

This semester I have consistently been reminded of these verses:

“Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first, I didn’t think of it as a gift and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,

          My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
          My strength comes into its own in your weakness.”
2 Corinthians 12:7-9 The Message

Being weak feels like a bad thing, but goodness has it made me run to God and beg for His wisdom. Being weak has also helped me remember I belong with Him even when I don’t feel like I belong in my new environment.

I am weak, and He will be my strength! I feel so much lighter thinking of it this way. 

Now who wants to proofread these citations?!



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

Faith, Hope, and Love for Your Messy Life (plus a chance to win the new Inspire Illustrating Bible!)

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Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.
I Corinthians 13:13 NLT

Life often gets in the way of my best intentions. I long to be described as calm, easy breezy, and unshakeable no matter what comes my way. And yet here I am a frazzled, tired, ball of feelings.

You see, I’m a worrier by nature, often imagining twenty-seven what-if scenarios for any given situation. I’m easily thrown off-kilter into a spiral of stress that is cured only by prayer, a nap, and a snack. I say things I don’t mean most every day, I get crabby more than I’d like to, and I long to give God more control even as I grip tightly to the plans I think are best.

Maybe you’re like me and you would love to give it all over to God and let Him lead. Yet the idea of anchoring your days in faith, hope, and love feels aspirational… but unattainable. We long for that unshakeable faith we’ve seen in others! Yet we find ourselves perpetually getting distracted by the inconveniences, frustrations, and stressors of everyday life. (Do you feel me?)

But there is hope for us even here.

In my role as Product Manager for Bible Publishing at DaySpring, I recently worked through the new Inspire Illustrating Bible, which centers every one of its 300+ illustrations around faith, hope, and love. In my professional review and personal reflection of this special Bible, I came to understand that this promise in I Corinthians 13:13 is for all of us.

You may be stressed out, worn out, or burnt out, and God will meet you there with faith, hope, and love for your actual real life today.

He wants this promise in Scripture to act as our cornerstone in the chaos, helping even worriers like me to unburden ourselves, communing with the One who is Love itself. A life of faith, hope, and love is a promise for you to grab ahold of today, no matter what your life looks like right now. With God as your companion and your guide, faith, hope, and love can be yours.

Faith and hope act as the foundation of love, as evidenced by this verse. And we can embrace these things in our messy, ordinary, emotional days, remembering we don’t have to be perfect to be His.

Hebrews 11:1 (NLT) says, “Faith shows the reality of what we hope for; it is the evidence of things we cannot see.” Faith reminds us that God is in control. It’s a balm for perfectionists like me.

When combined with hope, not only are we strengthened to believe that God is working all things together for our good (Romans 8:28), but we are sustained along the way with a hope that looks like confident expectation in the goodness of God’s promises. Even on your worst days, you can cling to the promise “that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13 NLT).

And the reason that love is the greatest of these virtues is that it binds everything together. When love is the lens through which we view the world, when love is the motivation behind our actions, when love is the way we reflect God’s character to others, everything about our ordinary days changes. When we love, we imitate Christ, who is love (I John 4:8). Love is the essence of God’s character and the driving force behind all His actions. Even the most frazzled among us can learn to love like Him when we accept that He loves us just as we are today. Love is not merely a feeling; it is an action, a choice, and a way of life.

If you’re like me – often feeling messy, disorganized, and a little chaotic — let’s remember that God never asked us to fit inside a neat and tidy “good Christian” box. He asks us instead to believe that we are His, to accept His love, and to go throughout our days leaning on Him.

This means that no matter how busy, harried, or difficult life gets, we can be filled to overflowing with faith, hope, and love. God has not given more of Himself to someone who is more put-together, organized, or well-spoken than you. No, God is with you in your real life today, offering faith, hope, and love to us all.

Go to Him today in the midst of your mess, He is waiting with open arms.

The DaySpring NLT Inspire Illustrating Bible features more than 300 ready-to-color designs, inviting readers to interact with the Word of God in a unique and refreshing way. With each of the illustrations reflecting one of the themes from 1 Corinthians 13:13, you will be able to express your creativity while focusing on what it means to be strong in faith, have a heart filled with hope, and take a posture of unconditional love. Linger longer in the Bible and spend time with God as you enjoy the relaxing benefits of coloring and creative journaling.

Plus, this beautiful Bible includes access to the Filament Bible app, which contains a wealth of resources to enhance the Bible-reading experience.

Pick up your Inspire Illustrating Bible… and leave a comment below to enter to WIN one for yourself*!

Then tune in this weekend for a very special bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast as Ellen Wildman, Product Manager of Bible Publishing at DaySpring, talks with Becky Keife about the behind-the-scenes of the Inspire Illustrating Bible! You don’t want to miss this conversation!

 

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

*The giveaway is open to U.S. addresses only and closes on 11/6/23 at 11:59 p.m. central.