I Want to See Jesus in the Church Like I Saw Him at the Hospital

I Want to See Jesus in the Church Like I Saw Him at the Hospital

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I have often heard that a church should look more like a hospital, and that’s the out-of-left-field thought I had at a most unusual moment. It popped into my mind when a nurse inserted the IV needle into my wrist.

I was in the hospital for surgery on my, ahem, pre-menopausal lady parts. (Everything is fine. I am recovered. I am at peace.) But moments before the IV was inserted, I was not at peace. I was in panic.

I had a full-on meltdown that would rival a three-year-old’s flopped-down fit in a Target aisle. Forty-nine-year-old me. In a hospital gown. With my long-suffering husband whispering gentle reassurance to me. Perhaps surprisingly, it wasn’t the procedure, biopsies, or anesthesia that sent me into a tailspin.

I was terrified of the needle. (Turns out, there’s a name for this very real fear: trypanophobia.)

Then something happened. The nurse — her name was Teresa — looked me in the eyes and said simply and calmly, “Have faith.”

Her words weren’t delivered in a way that would make you feel like you’d been preached at, or scolded, or that your fears were being marginalized. It was reassurance that was paradoxically gentle and firm. I knew in that moment that faith was possible.

I breathed deeply, and it became clear to me that the hospital was doing for me what the big-c Church is called to do for all people: to be like Jesus — the same Jesus, who, like Teresa, reminded His followers to have faith.

That day, I saw Jesus in the hospital from the moment I stepped inside.

I saw Jesus in the man who held the elevator open.

I saw Jesus in the receptionist who showed me to my room and asked about our holiday plans.

I saw Jesus in the patience of my husband, who held my trembling hand.

I saw Jesus in the nurse who pressed a lavender essential-oil patch onto my gown to calm me.

I saw Jesus in the anesthesiologist who explained how things would go in the operating room.

And, of course, I saw Jesus in Teresa.

All of this happened beneath a wooden cross nailed to the wall in front of me. Yes, a cross in a hospital. Perhaps you’re aware that the church played a major role in developing what we know today as the hospital. The same is true of the specific hospital where I was cared for, Avera, founded by orders of religious women. There is much to be said of the rich faith traditions undergirding our modern hospital system. It makes sense, given that the early church championed care of the sick.

And, of course, healing was a tenet of Christ’s ministry on earth. He was not only a spiritual healer but a physical one too. Like me, a woman who had been experiencing her own lady-part problems went in search of healing. She knew that if she could simply touch His cloak, she would be healed.

Jesus turned to her with words of compassion. “Take heart, daughter. Your faith has healed you” (Matthew 9:21-22).

As I think about the year ahead, the kind of Church I need — the kind of Church I want to be — is the kind where I am reminded that Jesus holds my suffering in nail-scarred hands.

I want to see Jesus in the rooms of 2022, and I want to be Jesus in the room. I want to bring whatever I can to a hurting world — whether that’s through the opening of a door, asking a kind question, offering a bit of lavender or a hand to hold. I want to bring my presence to those who are hurting.

Candidly, I also need the Church in this way. I too am sometimes saddled with pain and panic. I want to be able to show up in the new year as I am – broken, hurting, panicked, anxious – and find safe places to share my wounds without having them maligned or minimized. I need kind Teresas nearby to gently remind me to “have faith,” who will stay close even when I’m a bawling mess.

And may it all play out under the cross.

Yes, I need a church that’s like a hospital. It’s said that the word hospital originates from the Latin word hospes, meaning guest or stranger. It’s the same root for the word hospitality. The word patient comes from patior, which means to suffer. That means that, by definition, a hospital is a kind place where guests who are suffering can show up and be cared for.

May the Church — and all of us in it — become more and more a place like that.

Dear Lord, I pray for the woman who suffers today. I pray for the woman whose pain has been maligned, misunderstood, or minimized. May You give her safe passage toward people who believe her and guide her in faith. May You give her the courage to reach out and touch Your garment. And Father, we also pray for the Church in 2022. May it be a place that’s more like a hospital, where suffering guests can show up and be cared for. In Jesus’ healing name, Amen.

Bed Bugs, Hip Problems, and How God Shows Up in Surprising Ways

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We arrived in New York for our daughter’s much anticipated twelve-year-old trip with mom and dad, exhausted and ready for a good night’s sleep in a gorgeous hotel. We had big plans to explore the city, but the first thing our daughter wanted to do in the morning was to swim in the rooftop pool. We sauntered up with swimsuits and towels on right after breakfast.

Upon finding lounge chairs, my husband’s phone rang. and his eyes got big.

“This is the manager. I’m so sorry to say this, but we believe your room has bed bugs. We are going to ask you to come to a new, upgraded room immediately. Take only what you have on, and you will follow us to a new room. All your clothes and bags from your old room will go through a special cleaning process, then sent back to your room tomorrow. We are so sorry for the inconvenience!” 

My husband must have noticed my face. All my expectations came crashing down. We had waited so long for this trip, and now it was ruined. I teared up. We have no shoes, no clothes; we can’t go out in the chilly night air like this! And gross — bed bugs?! How did this happen! 

“We are sending the concierge out to shop for new clothes for tomorrow and tennis shoes. And pajamas. And anything else you need.” So we sat around in our half wet suits and waited. I tried to have a good attitude, but it didn’t work. I was just so disappointed. Finally, the clothes arrived, and we were able to go out to dinner. I prayed a pitiful prayer that God would somehow redeem this trip. 

But the following day, I woke up, and one of my eyes was matted shut. You’ve got to be kidding me. This is a comedy of errors! It was swollen and itchy, and I had to call an eye doctor to get a prescription in a city I didn’t know. But we had new outfits and shoes and decided to take to the streets. Nothing is going to stop us from having the trip of our lives — not even my jellyfish-looking eyeball! So we did all the fun things one does in New York City, clocking in 20,000 steps! 

Throughout the day, I kept asking my husband if his hips were hurting because he usually complains or walks with a limp with that much walking. “I can’t believe this, but I feel fine! I think it’s these shoes. I would have never bought them, but they’re actually incredible. My hip isn’t hurting at all.”

We both gasped and smiled. For years we’ve known he’s been inching towards surgery but have been putting it off. We’ve tried everything and never thought to switch his shoes. He hasn’t taken those tennis shoes off since, and his hip pain has dramatically decreased!

Our disastrous-but-redeemed trip reminds me of this year — these past couple of years — when expectations of how everything should have gone came crumbling down. Even though we’re past Christmas, I can’t help but think about Mary and how jarring it must have felt when the angel appeared to her suddenly.

And he came to her and said, “Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be.
Luke 1:28-29 (ESV)

I can just hear Mary saying, “Um, what kind of greeting is this?!” But God has a different way, a strange way, of showing up. He offers His provisions and care in such a surprising manner, we could easily miss the blessing it might contain. 

We look back now on that trip and see God’s surprising provision. He met needs we weren’t even looking to have met. We had big plans, but He had an even bigger plan to heal my husband’s hip — with an incident of bed bugs. (Yes, it’s funny!)

As we enter into this season of reflection and look forward to the future, we can probably conjure up all the ways we want our lives to go differently. But our vision might be clouded, perhaps matted shut with unmet expectations and bitterness. We might not be able to see the ways God has actually been providing for us all along. But this is what I’ve found to the be antidote to see clearly again: We must believe in His goodness towards us. When we look back and find the ways He’s been faithful to us, it helps us look forward to the future feeling less fearful and more hopeful.

I wonder how He will show up for us this next year as we look around and say, Where is God in this surprising turn in my life? Ah, our Emmanuel. God is with us — in the past, right now, and in the future. And His presence is our promise and our hope.

Remembering God’s Faithfulness This Year

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I will make known the Lord’s faithful love
and the Lord’s praiseworthy acts,
because of all the Lord has done for us—
even the many good things
he has done for the house of Israel,
which he did for them based on his compassion
and the abundance of his faithful love.
He said, “They are indeed my people,
children who will not be disloyal,”
and he became their Savior.
In all their suffering, he suffered,
and the angel of his presence saved them.
He redeemed them
because of his love and compassion;
he lifted them up and carried them
all the days of the past.
Isaiah 63:7-9 (CSB)

We are nearly at the end of this year, friends — can you believe it? As we settle our hearts after the celebrations and chaos of the holidays, let’s pause and remember God’s faithfulness to us this year. We would love to hear from you:

What prayers have been answered? 

At what moments did you see or hear God clearly? 

Who in your life has shown you more of God?

When things were hard, how did you feel God’s nearness?

God loves us more than we can imagine. We are His people, His children. God is and has been steady, unshaken, present, and compassionate in the midst of all that this year has brought. Breathe in God’s grace for you. It is enough.

It’s Never Too Late to Find Joy

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I had always wanted to go to the desert and see the wildflowers bloom. I read in an article that once a year wildflowers bloom in the desert. I planned to take our family down to Palm Springs from the San Francisco Bay area for the first time, but when I called to book a jeep tour, the company told me that no one knows exactly when flowers bloom in the desert. “We only know they bloom some time between March and May,” they said.

I learned that depending on the conditions of the land, rainfall, and weather, the timing varies every year. Still, I booked the trip, praying that God would allow us to see the wildflowers.

As my family and I zoomed out into the desert later in the spring, there was nothing but dirt, rocks, plentiful Joshua trees, and shrubs dotting the landscape as our jeep drove across the desert plains. I felt pretty disappointed.

“I thought we were going to see wildflowers?” my boys asked.

“Yeah, I guess not,” I shouted above the squeaky jeep ride.

However, thirty minutes later, and to my surprise, our guide stopped by the roadside and walked us over to some plants. “Wildflowers bloom here because they tell us something important is up ahead,” he said with a sparkle in his eyes underneath his sun hat.

He pointed up ahead to a cluster of palm trees in the distance. An oasis was up ahead. Streams in the desert were running underneath the ground we stood on, and the wildflowers plants were drawing water from deep within the desert.

I didn’t know flowers could blossom like that in the desert because nothing along the way told me that something beautiful would emerge from dry wilderness. Yet underneath the barren desert floor where I could not see, life-giving water was flowing.

Are you standing in a wilderness of your own and joy looks out of reach, as you end the year? Do you feel stressed, surrounded by the questions and problems surrounding you? Are you losing hope that beauty will show up along the way?

No matter how dry or barren your life feels now, it’s never too late to choose joy. God’s love and peace is an oasis we can run to, return to, and get refilled by no matter how things appear.

As I stood there in the middle of the oasis of palm trees, marveling at the pool of water flowing out of the ground, I felt an overwhelming peace. My heart was refreshed with joy as I began recalling Scriptures that flowed out life-giving truth:

Nothing is impossible with God.
Luke 1:37 (ESV)

Do not be afraid, for I am with you. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up.
Isaiah 41:10 (NIV)

The wilderness and the dry land will be glad; the desert will rejoice and blossom like a rose. It will blossom abundantly and will also rejoice with joy and singing.
Isaiah 35:1-2 (HCSB)

God’s Word empowers us and gives us hope. No matter what wilderness or desert of stress we may find ourselves in, we can always return to the oasis of God’s presence and choose joy again.

What are the stresses you’re experiencing? Tell God about it. Come vulnerably and honestly before Him and share your struggles, perhaps your lack of hope, and your tender hope to believe that joy might be possible again.

Friends, as we step into the new year in a couple of days, don’t give up looking for joy. Encourage yourself to believe God has prepared a place for you to blossom with joy in this world. Take your time. There is no rush or expiration date to finding joy. There is room for you to grow and learn what helps you to experience joy in a personal way. Take just one next step to bloom right where you are planted.

Whatever that might look like for you, seek it out in faith, knowing that when we seek it, we will find it. An oasis of joy waiting for you up ahead. It’s never too late to choose joy because you are God’s beloved daughter.

For more ways to find joy, follow Bonnie on Instagram @thebonniegray, sign up for her Breathe Newsletter (click here), and listen to this wellness podcast BREATHE: The Stress Less Podcast.

What a Wonder to Be Known!

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O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!
Psalm 139:1-6 (NLT)

As we enter into the last week of 2021, let’s take a collective deep breath. We’re ending a year that had many of us adjusting to constantly changing circumstances, starting new dreams and jobs, saying goodbye to loved ones too soon, or tentatively hoping for life to settle down. We might be holding our breath as we face 2022, wondering what it will bring, so for a moment today — right now — let’s rest in the truth we find in Psalm 139.

First, God knows us — our hearts, minds, and bodies. He knows the stress we hold from caring for those around us. He knows our frustration — about the pandemic, within our marriages, with our church communities. He knows what will delight us and when we need our rest. He goes before us so we’re never alone or lost, and He holds all our thoughts, feelings, needs, fears, and desires with care.

Second, God holds the future in His hands. When everything feels out of control, God can anchor us to Himself. His presence is our comfort, our assurance, and our blessing no matter what circumstances we will find ourselves in.

Take in these truths as you breathe deeply. You are known by a God who cares for you through every moment of every day, every month, and every year.

Wishing You a Very Merry Christmas!

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The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. We observed his glory, the glory as the one and only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1:14 (CSB)

Joy to the world, Christ has come. He is here. He is with us! May your day be filled with more joy and love than your heart can hold as you celebrate the greatest Gift — the never-ending, world-changing, amazing love and joy of Jesus Christ.

As you celebrate loud or quiet, near or far, today or next week, know that you, dear friend, are loved by all of us here at (in)courage.

May you see His glory today and every day. Merry Christmas!

On Christmas Eve, We Anticipate with Hope

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In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Luke 2:1-20 (NIV)

On this holy night as we anticipate Christmas in the morning, may you let these ancient words sink deep into your soul. This is the story of new beginnings, of hope in the middle of winter, of joy in the midst of chaos. It’s a story that meets us where we’re at and invites us into a miracle.

So no matter where your heart is today, pause, reflect, and rest in the story of the shepherds and the straw, of new decrees and new parents, of heavenly hosts and a baby King. May the twinkling glory of Christmas Eve breathe peace and life into your heart today.

The Friend We’ve Always Wanted and Have Been Waiting For

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I was six years old when I had my first best friend. Tonya was only one year older than I was, and she lived directly across the street, a convenient setup for a budding childhood friendship.

But right before I turned seven years old, my family moved to another state halfway across the United States. The day the movers arrived, my parents found me hiding in the living room drapes, crying at the prospect of leaving everything familiar behind, including my best friend Tonya. I was utterly inconsolable, certain this move was the end of life itself.

Of course, life would continue, even without Tonya. And within months of being in my new state, my new church, my new school, and my new neighborhood, I found another best friend. And this one proved even sweeter than the first. For the rest of my childhood, we shared birthdays and holidays, and summer break was often spent at each other’s house. Her parents became my second parents, and vice versa. And when we married, we both shared the big day with the other.

Even now, more than forty years later, our friendship continues. Though we no longer live in the same geographical area, our hearts are intertwined and always will be. We’ve raised children and buried parents; bought, sold, and remodeled houses; and tackled various health challenges and ministry challenges. And though we don’t often have time together, in person or over the phone, we both would drop everything and jump on a plane or train if the other needed us. There is no question. And no matter how much time passes in between visits, when we find ourselves face-to-face, it takes no time at all to share the intimate details of our lives with each other.

We’re friends, through and through, and we have very few secrets between us.

When King David faced difficulties in his life — everything from a fractured family to political upheaval — he too needed the solace of a best friend. And, as cheesy as it may sound, David found solace in his friendship with God. When everything felt precarious, when he sinned and failed, and he had no clue what he should do, he turned to the Father of his soul and poured out his heart.

Show me your ways, Lord,
    teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
    for you are God my Savior,
    and my hope is in you all day long.
Psalm 25:4-5 (NIV)

“My hope is in you all day long,” he claimed. Over and over again, in the stories of David captured on the pages of the Old Testament, we see evidence of that fact. Even when David sinned and tried to hide from the Almighty, he eventually turned to his best friend and laid his heart bare.

What I find compelling, however, is not David’s transparency but God’s.

The Lord confides in those who fear him;
he makes his covenant known to them.
My eyes are ever on the Lord,
for only he will release my feet from the snare.
Psalm 25:14-15 (NIV)

In verse 14, David recalls how the intimacy he shared with the Almighty wasn’t one-sided. Instead, the Lord confided in him, as well, reassuring David of His covenantal promise of relationship. David found solace, not only in his communication with God but in how God simultaneously revealed His heart to him. It was a two-way relationship — friend to friend, face to face. Moses had a similar experience with God, as recorded in Exodus 33:11: “The Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.”

Do you realize what this means for you and me? Don’t rush past this until the truth has fully infiltrated your heart with its implications: God Himself wants to confide in you. The word confide means to share secrets with. That means the One who made you, the One who holds all things in His hands, wants to show Himself to you and share His heart with you. He will not withhold Himself from you but rather longs to draw you into communion with Him. Jesus made the same claim:

I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.
John 15:15 (NIV)

Life gets lonely sometimes, friends. There are days when, in spite of the various humans surrounding us, we still feel all alone. But we mustn’t forget: There is One who is already ready to share His secrets with us, One who knows us better than all the others and loves us anyway, One who promises to never leave us and always stay close.

The friend we’ve always wanted and have been waiting for — a best friend. And His name is Jesus.

Stop Playing the Comparison Game This Christmas

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You don’t have to experience many Christmases before the comparison game begins. Children remember their biggest presents, their Elf on the Shelf’s most challenging hiding places, the time when your home was the most elaborately decorated (interior and exterior) and how early in the season the decorating began. They remember the year your dog wore a Santa costume throughout December and that time when you perfected a peppermint hot chocolate recipe and served it every night.

The combination of such memories, embellished by time and imagination, contributes to the magic of the season.

But while children’s memories are relatively short-term, ours span a longer period. We not only remember traditions carried down from year to year but also from generation to generation. I remember the homemade chocolate covered cherries and steaming pots of hot cocoa my grandmother served on Christmas Eve and how my mother hand-spun elaborate bows out of rolls of ribbon to top our perfectly wrapped presents. I remember pulling taffy with my great-aunts while my parents attended grown-up holiday parties and the series of stops on our annual Christmas tour as we visited family, both local and out-of-state. I remember cutting, sewing, and stuffing fabric ornaments to hang on our tree.

I also remember the times as an adult when I did Christmas better — when I mailed Christmas cards (on time) with family photos; when I baked batches of hot, homemade cinnamon rolls and our children delivered them to the neighbors; when I led month-long Christmas-themed devotionals around our kitchen table at night; when I crafted thoughtful, individual gifts by hand.

No matter our age, we all enter the Christmas season with expectations influenced by past Christmases. And as women, we are often the ones expected to make the magic happen. Some years, the time and resources just aren’t there, but other years (and this one leaves us feeling so guilty), it’s our desire and motivation that have gone missing.

We can blame it on current events — no matter how much we want to shake off the pandemic, the world around us has changed — but for some of us the pandemic is merely an excuse, an easy scapegoat for feelings of inadequacy and the fear of not meeting the expectations of those around us. As if Christmas was about us anyway.

If comparison is the thief of joy, and Christmas celebrates the birth of the ultimate giver of joy, Jesus Christ Himself, then comparison has no place in how we observe this meaningful season. Whenever I apologize for a “less than” Christmas (yes, I’ve actually done this more than once), our children reassure me that it’s just right.

My apologies are misguided, putting the focus on my follies and failings instead of the incomprehensible fact that Jesus Christ descended from the perfection and glory of heaven into a fallen world for our sakes. He left a place where He was worshiped for one where He was ridiculed and rejected. He traded paradise for pain and suffering.

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.
John 1:14 (KJV)

This year I want to ease off the gas and savor the season at a slower speed, contemplating what the Father and Son sacrificed when Jesus came to dwell among us and spending time with the people who dwell with me each day.

The day after Thanksgiving, when the crumbs were swept away, I cleared a spot at the end of our dining room table and pulled out a puzzle. I wanted to create a spot where we could set aside devices, share stories, and sit together, possibly assembling a 1000-piece puzzle in the process. We’ve curled up on the couch to watch new Christmas movies at home and ventured out, blankets in hand, to a small local theater to see Frozen on the big screen again. We’ve whipped up batches of hot chocolate and steamed apple cider and built fires in the fireplace on cold evenings. Our best-loved Christmas albums are on heavy rotation, speakers synced so the music will follow us from room to room.

Memories are waiting to be made in such simple moments.

Our decorations aren’t Pinterest-worthy. We wrap our gifts, but we gave up on bows a long time ago. We haven’t mailed Christmas cards in years. But my family is enjoying the season together, and laughter rings throughout our home.

Trying to compete with Christmases before — those times when we cooked, decorated, gifted, or celebrated a little better — can steal the beauty and joy of this magical time of year. We’ll never do Christmas wrong when we focus on the real reason for the season — the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ — and spending time with those we love.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6 (KJV)

Finding Joy Is an Act of Defiance in This World

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I drove to my parent’s home as dusk became night, glancing around at the empty streets. Every street was hauntingly empty, except for me — a daughter driving to see her dying mother. Earlier that day, the governor of California imposed a lockdown due to the COVID pandemic. Residents were to stay home, except for vital activities like grocery shopping or life-and-death scenarios.

I felt sick when I realized I fell in the latter category; my mother was dying. That first week of the lockdown felt surreal. While my own world spun out of control, the rest of the world was seemingly playing along. Normal was a thing of the past for all of us. Mom worsened as hospice nurses came and went, along with new worries: What were they bringing with them? Had they been exposed to this new virus? Grief of my mother’s rapidly approaching death now swirled with confusion about the changing world we lived in.

Nothing was the same.

We held a small graveside service for Mom that felt lackluster. I wore an N-95 mask as I read the eulogy I wrote for her, grateful for a shield to partially hide my quivering chin and breaking voice.

And then it was done. It was time to go back to every day life, but one that was neither normal nor recognizable. I was facing a new life, but not the one I envisioned I would live after my mother passed. I once imagined vacations we would take my bereaved father on to prove that life could still be joyful — maybe my boys would finally go to Disneyland with their grandfather and giggle together on careening coasters. Perhaps we would take a cross-country road trip or finally go back to Hawaii, like we’d promised each other on our honeymoon. It felt naïve now to think of those plans.

Instead, I was left with a quieted life, now soaked with grief — for all the things. Losing my mother felt immensely surreal. She was here, and then she was not. How could that be? It was only in the days afterwards I realized I had unknowingly depended on the rest of my life to hold the line of normalcy. I thought when I emerged from the deep waters of grief long enough to take a breath, I would recognize my surroundings. It was odd the comfort I felt from a world turned upside down.

The world looked different and felt sad, as if in unison all of God’s people were asking, Why? What now? This part of the new world I was living in without my mother felt familiar since I had been asking those same questions since her cancer diagnosis.

Once my grief turned internal — and by that, I mean I no longer cried every other day — the question I began asking was, How? How can I find joy now, in a place that feels unfamiliar and complex, where my grief has specificity and vagueness that leave me with a hazy heaviness? During Jesus’ time on earth, He had the ability to focus on the big picture and the immediate need simultaneously. He spoke to crowds of thousands who yearned to hear the truth, and then healed the sick, one by one. Conditions were oppressive, and yet to those He touched, freedom was given.

Finding joy is an act of defiance in this world we now inhabit.

There is so much to grieve, personal and global, and yet His peace persists. His joy still thrives within. The world cannot steal the gift of Himself He has given. We can rejoice, but what does joy look like when every headline rushes to snuff it out?

Well, sometimes, it looks like planting roses.

I walked through the rows of rose bushes in the Lowe’s garden department. It was Mom’s birthday, and I did not want to visit her grave. My soul wanted to revolt. I would celebrate life and beauty instead. My fingers traced the velvet petals of a few potted roses as I inhaled their scent and considered which would bring me the most joy, which would remind me of the beauty in this world that still persists.

I bought some and planted them in my backyard, knowing the hot California sun would test their resilience. For the first weeks, it looked as though I had brought them home only to watch their slow withering deaths. How ironic, I thought. And then, a single bud appeared, followed by three, then six, then twelve. It was as if my mother had sent me a dozen roses.

Joy is resilient even when pain is relentless.

Maybe, for you, the grief you feel is more complex than a headline. Maybe it’s personal, as close as the heaviness that sits on your chest. Maybe it’s both. For many of us, it’s both. It’s knotted and gnarled and tangled so tightly it’s difficult to tease out exactly what feels so hard.

You don’t need untangle it for Jesus. He knows. He sees the big picture and the small, and He promises that for every unrelenting sorrow, one day there will be unimaginable joy.

Mama’s Got a Lot to Learn

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Everyone is sitting on cozy couches watching Hallmark movies. They feature leading ladies who return to their hometowns only to fall in love and find that their lives are finally falling into place. I know I should be snuggled up watching holiday movies too, baking gingerbread cookies, and singing all the Christmas songs. But instead, I am listening to “My Little Love” by Adele on repeat — and I cannot stop from playing the song over and over again, the lyrics looping in my kitchen, in my office, in my car:

I’m holding on (barely)
Mama’s got a lot to learn (it’s heavy)
I’m holding on (catch me)
Mama’s got a lot to learn (teach me)

The words of this song come to me when I wake. I hum them while I brush my teeth, I sing them in the shower and in grocery stores. I look up the lyrics and memorize them because even though Adele doesn’t know me, I’m sure the song is about me. I’m the one that’s barely holding on. I’m the one that, thirty years into living, still has so much to learn.

I am the mama hoping that the hurt in her heart doesn’t catch on to her kids. I am the mama hoping that her lostness doesn’t disappoint the light in her kids’ eyes when they discover that she doesn’t have it all together. That no matter how intelligent and brave and fun she seems, she’s really just a woman tearing at the seams.

And this isn’t just a sentiment for the mamas — this is the ache in every heart of any woman who’s got a lot to learn. It’s the ache of every woman that needs time to stand still and keep her wreckage from the world. It’s the ache of every woman desperately hoping that someone will love her while she’s learning, secretly guarding her imperfections so that she does not infect the ones she knows and loves. 

But time will never stay or stand still. Kids outgrow clothes, and the sun rises just as soon as we set our eyes to sleep. We barely catch our breath before we realize we’ve grown another year older, another year colder. And what we need at this point is not pity or apologies and not even just prayers.

What we need, at this point, is the truth that the God of the galaxies is enough to hold and handle our every emotion. What we need is the assurance that His love for us will not bend or break at the first — or second or third — sign of us losing faith. What we need is for the kind of grace that never rushes us or runs out on us.

We need the promise of His presence which never fails no matter what it is that we’re facing, both within and around us. We need the promise of a God who will walk with us through the scenarios that do not make sense, the circumstances in which we are still grieving and growing, still wandering and wondering.

These words from Adele, the honest confession of holding on and still having a lot to learn, pricked my seeking soul to recall story after story of God who walked through the most uncertain circumstance with a whole tribe of imperfect people. I am reminded of God who remained with the Israelites in their wilderness.

He was a God who didn’t just lead them out of their lostness but led them through it. Through every lesson they needed to learn — all of their polarity and immaturity, all of their unbelief and wavering grief — He walked with them, loving them as they learned to serve, love, and trust Him and each other.

I imagine the women — the grandmothers, mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, wives, friends. I imagine their exhaustion from living in lostness, waking and rising to the same day in the wilderness, seemingly on repeat. I imagine them feeling like they didn’t know what they were doing, like they’d somehow gotten it all wrong. Feeling like, after all those years in Egypt, fighting for their freedom and singing about the sureness of God’s goodness, they still had so much left to learn as they carried out their faith, families, and future.

But God still loved them even in their learning.

By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night. Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people.
Exodus 13:21-22 (NIV)

And God loves us even in our learning. He provides for us and speaks promises over us, leading us through our darkest and hardest seasons when it feels like we are wandering around in the dark — confused, unsure, and barely hanging on.

And because of this great love — His promises, provision, and even protection — we do not have to circumvent the weight of our stories with anyone or hide the fact that we’ve not yet arrived. We can admit that we are tired and unsure and wary of the way even while we are trusting that God is holding us through it all. He leads and loves us even as we’re still learning.

What’s the One Thing That Matters Most to You Now?

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I’m wearing four layers of clothing: a bra, shirt, puffy vest, and coat — as if I’ve armored myself against what’s to come. On a chilly morning I step into a clinic for my yearly mammogram. As expected, I’m escorted to a tiny room and told to get rid of the layers.

The nurse holds up a garment and says, “When you’re done, put on this cape.” It’s covered in flowers and has a single snap at the neck. I have to admit that I feel a bit like Wonder Woman wearing it. And I might have put my hands on my hips and pretended to be her when the technician was busy looking at her computer screen.

I do not, however, feel like Wonder Woman throughout most of the procedure. As any woman who has been through this knows, I’m prodded and pinched, stretched and squished, twisted and placed in positions I did not know I was capable of achieving. The nurse is kind and tries to make the process less awkward. I tell her, “When I’m done, I’m going to get a treat. In my world, if you’re not a cowgirl and you have to be in stirrups or any body part must be compressed, then you get a treat.” She laughs.

I make my way to my favorite coffee shop afterward and order a latte. Then I open my laptop and take a look at my email inbox. Suddenly, I feel like I’m being stretched and compressed all over again — except this time it’s my energy and time that are getting worked over. There are several different requests, deadlines to be met, and messages from people with a variety of needs (all urgent). My anxiety immediately sky rockets, and I dive right in to getting things done. But in a few moments, I pause and realize I’ve had a relapse. Years ago, that’s the way I worked, the way I lived. It led me to the brink of burnout. I’m not going back.

Greg McKeown, the author of Essentialism, says, “Only once you give yourself permission to stop trying to do it all, to stop saying yes to everyone, can you make your highest contribution towards the things that really matter.” It can feel as if we are at the mercy of our calendars and to-do lists. This is a hard way to live. What I’m learning to ask instead is, “What’s most important right now?”

The Apostle Paul said, “I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us (Philippians 3:13-14). It can seem to us like Paul did a lot of things in his lifetime, but he really just did one thing in many different ways.

How would you fill in the blank in Paul’s declaration, “I focus on this one thing . . . “? You might answer with words about loving well, serving faithfully, living with excellence, or practicing resilience.

Then you can ask, “What does that specifically look like in this season of my life?”

These are not easy questions, but they can bring clarity to our lives. They can help us say “no” with courage and “yes” with conviction. As Greg McKeown also says, “If you don’t prioritize your life, someone else will.” Personally, I’ll take inner peace over being pulled in different directions any day (except maybe the one when I have to get my mammogram).

Shelly D. Calcagno’s words inspire and challenge me, “Sometimes I think of the future, and I imagine this family looking at some old pictures. . . . And some sweet child whom I’ve never met but who is part of my family in generations to come looks at my face and asks, ‘Tell me about her.’ What will they say about me? I hope they will see the good parts of me living on in them because I decided to live with purpose now.”

My guess is you are living with purpose — even (and perhaps especially) on the days when you can’t see it or you don’t feel it. Putting words to how you’re doing so is meant to be an affirmation of what you’re already doing, not another standard or expectation to live up to. You are surrounded by grace, supported by love, and you are doing so much better than you know.

God, there are so many good things to do in this world that it’s sometimes hard to see what’s really best. When we begin to get overwhelmed, to take on more than You ever asked us to do, help us to slow down, bring it all to You and choose wisely what we pursue. We are not here to do what everyone wants but what You will. Whew. Amen.

The holidays can be stressful. Pause and take a deep breath, then whisper a prayer, and answer this question, “What is the one thing I most want to pursue in this season?” I’d love to hear your answer in the comments!

Are you looking for an encouraging gift for the people you love this holiday season? Holley Gerth’s new devotional, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Powerful Truths to Protect Your Peace, will be a blessing to everyone on your Christmas list.

God Handcrafts Unique Gifts for Each of Us

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My favorite Christmas memory as a child happened the year my dad lost his job. That was the year Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage. In case you are not a child of the ‘80s, they were one-of-a-kind cloth dolls with plastic heads that came with birth certificates and adoption papers. All the girls wanted them for Christmas.

They were also expensive.

My family was scraping by on my mom’s teaching salary. Even though it was a gift I longed for, I knew in my heart it wouldn’t be possible. I didn’t want my parents to feel bad about it so I kept my wish to myself.

My mama, however, had different plans. She found a woman from our church named Delores, who was making handmade dolls similar to the name-brand ones and charging much less. Delores had cared for me when I was in the church nursery. She painted the dolls faces and crafted their hair, making each one with unique features. Mama commissioned her to create a doll for me with the same chai latte skin tone, freckles, dark brown pigtails, and even a diamond-shaped beauty mark on her right cheek just like mine.

On Christmas morning, my brother and I raced downstairs to the tree eager to dig into the treats in our stockings and unwrap the gifts beneath the tree. I was surprised when I saw a hand-sewn, quilted baby carrier nestled among the other wrapped gifts. With sparkling eyes, Mama and Daddy encouraged me to open it.

Inside was the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen with lush, dark chocolate hair and my similar features. I was stunned. How did they do it? How did they know what I’d wanted?

I named my doll Kailani, which was my middle name meaning “heavenly child of the sea” in Hawaiian. That doll was my treasure for years. I cared for her, cuddled her, styled her, read to her, and talked to her about all my dreams. Cradling her in my arms, I cared for her like my own baby — never imagining God would one day give me three baby girls.

Kailani was a sweet reminder that God delights in giving us good gifts. He gave Delores and my mama the gift of creativity to fashion this doll just for me. And the best part was that Kailani looked like me. She wasn’t like all the other Cabbage Patch dolls. In my second-grade mind, she was more beautiful and perfect than if we had had the money to buy the name brand one. Decades later, I’m still savoring the memory of receiving that handmade gift.

In the book of James, Jesus’ half-brother, reminds us:

Every generous act and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights; with Him there is no variation or shadow cast by turning. By His own choice, He gave us a new birth by the message of truth so that we would be the firstfruits of His creatures.
James 1:17-18 (HCSB)

Friends, sometimes in life we may find ourselves longing for something that someone else has. She might be especially adept in the kitchen or inspiring when she speaks on the stage. Your friend might have a way with words or beautiful features or that cute pair of shoes you’ve always wanted. We can focus on that specific gift that our friend has, or we can unwrap the generous and perfect gifts God has handcrafted uniquely for each one of us.

Maybe He painted you with freckles or shaped you with naturally curly hair. Maybe He molded you with a gift for organization or singing or gathering people. Maybe your gift is being able to see the person in the room who is hurting or on the fringes. Whatever your unique gift, embrace it. Receive it. Rip off the paper and use it for His glory!

As we draw near to Christmas, let’s remember the most perfect gift God gave each one of us. When He sent his son Jesus as a newborn baby to earth, He made the greatest sacrifice of all time. He knew when He gingerly placed His precious child in that rough manger that Jesus would one day have to die a horrible death on the cross. He gave up His most treasured possession to gift us freedom from sin and eternal life. Friends, this is not a gift we can earn or strive for. It’s unmerited and undeserved but given with unabashed love and grace. In all our traditions and gatherings this week, let’s not forget the True Gift — Jesus.

Dorina helps women chase God’s glory down life’s unexpected trails through her weekly Glorygram. Sign up here to get it delivered to your inbox and to learn about her podcast and other projects.

Learning to Let Our Hearts Be Light

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Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on
Your troubles will be out of sight . . .

Let your heart be light. This has never been something I’m good at. If there’s a fear to chew on or a worry to consume me, I’m on it. If there’s a burden to be carried, I’ll throw it over my shoulder and then wonder why I’m trudging heavily through the day. If something can keep me up and awake at night, clawing through outcomes and reactions in my sleep-addled brain, I’m on it. My husband knows this about me, and sometimes in the middle of the night, when the thoughts are consuming my mind and heart, bearing down like a freight train, I wake him for a sleepy speech he has memorized: “There’s nothing more to do today. You’ve done enough for this day. We can pick these worries up in the morning.”

I’m not an optimist by nature, and I need the reminder from my very optimistic husband. I’m more of a “realist,” which I find is really just a nicer way to say worst-outcome-inventor. And my own nature besides, it’s not really been much of a light year, right?

COVID is still raging globally. Communities are hurting. Friendships are struggling. Everything is complicated, and nothing feels easy. And is Christmas really even going to feel okay this year?

For many of us, the answer is no. This was the year my favorite uncle was killed by a drunk driver. This was the year my baby brother was hospitalized nineteen times for a yet undiagnosed illness. This was the year my kids asked really hard questions. This was the year that kind of chewed us up and spit us out, didn’t it, friends?

I wouldn’t classify 2021 as a year in which I “let my heart be light.” This has been much more of a “from now on your troubles will be out of sight” kind of year.

Even in the good things (of which there were also plenty), lightness was hard to come by. There was both joy and difficulty all at once. Going back to school was both wonderful and hard this year. Starting a new full-time job has been both wonderful and hard. Returning to some of our pre-pandemic routines and rhythms has been both wonderful and hard.

What I want to tell you today, mere days before Christmas morning, is that both light and dark, wonderful and hard, joy and difficulty, is okay to feel — maybe especially at Christmas.

Here’s the thing: Often there seems to be an unspoken pressure or expectation that at Christmastime, we’re supposed to only be happy. Jolly. Light. And if we’re not, then we’re doing it wrong.

Let me say clearly: If this season is both wonderful and difficult for you, you are not alone, and you are not doing it wrong.

The pressure to be all things joyful is strong. Yet we know even Jesus, the One we celebrate this season, wasn’t joyful all the time. He escaped for time alone. He got angry. He wept.

And I think He knew we too would have big feelings to feel, burdens to carry, and thankfully He set a precedent of what we can do with them.

Lay. Them. Down.

I know it’s far more nuanced in practice, yet truly, Jesus’ example is both as simple (and complex) as that. It can feel like a platitude (Just hand it over to God and then everything will be fine!), and is often offered as such. However, it takes true strength to hand those burdens over to the One who carries it all anyway. When Jesus is burdened, He goes away to be with His Father. He prays. He feels the tears and anger, and He brings God into that place with Him.

Pretty sure Jesus doesn’t chew on it all night by Himself while tossing and turning.

It’s far too easy for me to forget what Jesus says and promises about worry, about burden, about fear, right in Matthew 11:29-30:

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

The Message version says it like this:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

God can handle all of our emotions. He’s ready and waiting for us to hand them over. And in doing so, we may not be relieved entirely of the burden. Sometimes it’s not that easy, rather just the first step of many. But once we remember we aren’t trudging through the day alone, once we hand over some of our pain and worry, once we know deep in our hearts that we are not forgotten or alone, our shoulders will feel lighter.

Jesus, God with us, offers a lightness of spirit that can carry us through long after the holidays. There’s hope. Christmas is coming, friends. May your heart be light.

How One Interaction at the Dumpsters Changed a Life — and Our Family

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My mom met Mary, a total stranger, by the apartment dumpsters. Muttering under her breath about the cost of garbage bags, she washed out her trash can so she didn’t need to purchase them. My mom empathized because, let’s be honest, no one wants to spend hard earned cash on trash bags. That shared sentiment sparked an expanded conversation.

This meeting was one only God could orchestrate, but it was kicked off by quite a bit of inconvenience. Two weeks earlier, my parents returned home from a trip only to find their first floor completely flooded. Attempting to sleep in their upstairs, they quickly realized mold had already set into those walls. Their house would need to be brought to the studs for demolition, thus temporarily relocating them to the nearest apartment complex.

That’s how the nearly two-hour dumpster encounter began. My mom shared her chance meeting with me later that day. These two women couldn’t be more different in every aspect — age, background, history — but because God writes the best stories, I immediately declared, “Mom, invite her over for our Easter brunch this weekend!”

Mary came.

She shuffled tentatively through our front door. Overdressed in her rarely touched Sunday best, she was visibly nervous, socially uncomfortable, and as she walked into our kitchen, she whispered to me, “I don’t really know how to be right now.”

My heart expanded with such love and empathy for her. While she was older than myself, I wanted to cuddle her in my arms much like I’ve done for decades with our children. Desiring to create a space where she could feel seen and valued, I opened my arms, gave her a familial hug, and whispered, “You are perfect just as you are.” I walked her to the sign that holds a place of honor, “Welcome to the Schmidt home. Delighted you are here. This is a place that celebrates both the beauty and bedlam of life.” (A take-off made from my blog “Balancing Beauty and Bedlam.”) Then I pointed to another one, “Come As You Are.”

I assured her these weren’t just cute phrases but sentiments that embody who we are as a family. Now that she was entering into our bedlam, she was welcomed as part of our family. I could tell she didn’t know what that all meant, but some of the visible stress dissipated.

Over the next hour, she watched the chaos ensue — kids running barefoot, drinks spilled, stories retold, loud laughter as family members talked over each other — and then brunch was served.

Everyone gathered around the kitchen in our long-standing family tradition coined the “Circle of Love.” With decades of open-door living behind me, I understand the opportunity to impart words of great influence over those in our home. Proverbs 18:21 reminds us that “death and life are in the power of the tongue,” and we take every chance possible to speak words of life and encouragement to our guests. As our extended circle grasped hands, I knew our precious stranger friend felt a tad uncomfortable, but we took intentional time to uplift, shower gratitude over her, and bring hope to her weary soul. She mentioned her birthday was the next day, so we burst into a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

As the song came to a close, a sacred moment swept over those gathered. Tears streamed down our guest’s face. Our littlest family member couldn’t figure out why the lady was crying. Celebrating a birthday is a happy occasion and singing is second nature, isn’t it?

We paused as she collected herself. “I’ve never had anyone sing for my birthday — let alone this many people.”

In that simple utterance, the reality of why we swing wide our doors to welcome others impacted every single one us. It’s so much easier than we think. It has nothing to do with the actual setting, décor, or food. The reason we open the door is because we’re driven by the main principles of hospitality: loving Him, loving His will, and following His will into loving others.

The newfound, sacred, but uncomfortably awkward at times friendship with Mary didn’t end at Easter brunch. Led by my mother, she’s been enveloped by many more over the last eight months and she’s slowly shared her challenging life story. I couldn’t wrap my head around how someone who grew up in the United States had never had “Happy Birthday” sung to them. Now I know; she’s opening my eyes.

Mary will sing with our extended family at this year’s candlelight Christmas Eve service. She’ll take communion as a new follower of Jesus Christ. I’m so grateful my mom didn’t walk on by her that day at the dumpsters.

Over and over, I’m convinced that one invitation can change a life, a generation. It doesn’t need to be a stranger, but maybe today you’ll brainstorm about one special person to whom you can sing a life-changing rendition of “Happy Birthday.” And as we celebrate Jesus’s birthday next week, what a joyful noise it will be to sing to Him! May you open your doors wide and invite someone in. May you take the extra time to pause and talk with a stranger. And may the love of God be experienced through you.

Hey, Friend, You Don’t Have To Do It All

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I closed my eyes and gently pressed two fingers on my eyelid to stop it from twitching.

Christmas was getting closer, and my brain would not stop reminding me of all I needed to do, gifts I needed to buy, plans, and decisions I needed to make. Then there was laundry to wash, groceries to buy, appointments to schedule, calls to return, and my daughter’s birthday party to plan.

Why doesn’t everything just do itself this time of the year so I can handle the extra stuff that comes with the holidays? I wondered.

As I walked around my house in what felt like circles, trying to make progress, my chest started tightening, and my head started aching. I thought about all the times I had resented December and dreaded Christmas. I didn’t want that to happen again, and I knew I was the only person who could stop it. So I sat down and made a list of my nonstop thoughts, ideas, desires, along with our family’s Christmas traditions and expectations I assumed others had of me. I looked at the list and took a deep breath — no wonder I was overwhelmed and eye-twitchy. 

But what happened next caught me by surprise. An idea I’d never had before popped into my thoughts: You don’t have to do it all.

And, of course, I questioned it. How can I not do all of these things? I’ve always done them! 

But then, another thought came to me: You don’t have to do what you’ve always done. You could just do what matters most to you and the ones you love.

It sounded like something someone older and wiser would say, and I knew it was not my own thoughts, but God’s heart whispering to mine. His grace-filled perspective began to shift something in me. I didn’t have to do it all. I was an adult, and I had a choice in the matter.

Now, I’m sure this would be an obvious option to some people. For me, it was the first time I’d even considered changing how our family celebrated Christmas and possibly eliminating some of our traditions. But when a sense of relief washed over my soul and calm came in my chest, I knew it was wisdom my heart desperately needed to hear.

That year, I made another list of traditions that mattered most to me. And I sat down with my husband, J.J., and our kids to find out what mattered most to them. I put up fewer Christmas decorations, cut back on the most time-consuming and stressful traditions, bought teachers gift cards instead of gifts, and did almost all of my shopping online. 

I also took J.J.’s advice and gave our sons and their wives each a tradition to plan so I wasn’t the only one in charge of food, games, and activities. It’s a glorious thing when your kids become young adults. (Just hold on, mamas of young kids, your time is coming!) 

December is a lot. And the past two years have compounded the weight of concerns we carry and loads we bear. But it’s not only during the holidays that we fall into a mindset of believing we have to do it all. Every season of the year and every stage of life comes with expectations, obligations, and preparations that can leave us frazzled and disconnected from what matters most.

When that disconnect starts happening, it’s important for us to remember that God wants us to ask Him for help. He promised in Hebrews 13:5-6, “‘Never will I leave you. . .’ So we say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper.'”

We can’t do this on our own. We need God’s wisdom to discern what to let go of and His courage to actually let go of some things and leave room to enjoy what matters most. We need His strength to accomplish the tasks on our list and His direction to know what to delegate and what to eliminate.

We also need to get better at saying no more often — at Christmas and throughout the year. This is a hard one for me because I want to be there for people, I don’t want to disappoint anyone, and for some reason I think I should be able to be and do it all.

The truth is, no one can be and do it all. We are going to disappoint someone. But we won’t be as likely to disappoint the ones who matter most — and ourselves — if we say more nos and save up more yeses.

And on those days when we feel completely overwhelmed, let’s remember something my friend and author Emily P. Freeman often recommends: “Let’s do the next right thing in love.”

Sometimes the next right thing will be to wash a load of laundry, make a grocery list, take a nap, spend time with someone we love, or get ready for work. Whatever it is, let’s focus on that one thing until it’s done, and then move on to our next right thing. And if all our next right things still feel like too much, let that be our signal that it is time to bow out of some commitments so we can come up with a load we can live with and love — one that eases all the eye twitches and chest pains, amen! 

Sweet friend, Jesus doesn’t want or expect you to do it all.  I pray you feel His permission and encouragement in the coming weeks as you remember this truth: You really don’t have to do it all — not at Christmas or at any other time of year.

If you’d like to draw closer to Jesus and what matters most, here’s a calming Christmas prayer from Renee. Also, if you or a mom you love could use encouragement filled with Truth your heart needs to know and simple ways to give your children what they need most, click here to find out more about Renee’s new book, A Confident Mom.