When Faith Is Complicated But Simple Enough to Be Held in Hungry Hands

When Faith Is Complicated But Simple Enough to Be Held in Hungry Hands

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Many of the abstract parts of Christianity are difficult for me, but communion has always felt easy. Instead of quiet prayers or beliefs, communion provides something to hold, smell, do, and taste. Regardless of how we serve it, I love the physicality of the bread and wine. Whether given thimbles of grape juice and tasteless wafers or hunks of soft bread and goblets of wine, communion has always been an invitation and a rare chance for me to press my knees into the cushion of the altar. It is not just the physical action but the singularity. A person at the front hands me a hunk of break and says, “This is Christ’s body broken for you.” Spoken just to me. Given just to me.  

I’m not especially drawn to tradition or formalities. I prefer a church service with a guitar to an organ. I’d rather wear jeans than my Sunday best, but communion has always had a way of fixing what is broken inside me. I know certain denominations believe different things about what the bread and wine signify or what happens or who can take it. I don’t care if it is a symbol or a mystery. I just like the chance to remember what Jesus did on His last night with His friends. To break bread is holy whether you do it at a table or an altar or in your living room.  

Christ did not only speak of the bread of life but often of actual bread. Christ physically feeds the multitudes, He turns water into wine at a wedding, and He breaks bread with His friends. The metaphor doesn’t work without the physicality, without the hungry hands accepting His gift. Maybe this is the reminder I need each time my church offers me communion. That faith is complicated and abstract, but also simple enough to be held in my own hungry hands.    

My particular church celebrates communion once a month and offers an open table, meaning that anyone is welcome to partake. This means that if my own children have made it all the way through the service I take them with me. I know they don’t fully know what it means, but I still bring them down the center aisle. I know many faith traditions have different conditions for communion, but I find hope in the fact that I don’t have to completely understand it to accept the gift. The same could be said for many more aspects of my faith.  

One communion Sunday, my son stopped coloring on the program long enough to listen to what the person breaking bread at the front was saying. The pastor explained what communion signifies and means as he ripped the round loaf in half.  

My son, only six but already a realist, says, “They just bought that at the store. It didn’t come from God.” Then repeated it in case we didn’t hear or in case the people in the pew behind us didn’t hear. I laughed out loud instead of shushing his observations. Maybe I shouldn’t have but his honesty stood out in a place where people often hide their questions. I let my husband try to explain the bread as a symbol, which was far too much for his six-year-old head. He came to the altar with us anyways. Probably for a snack or the relief of not sitting still for a few minutes or maybe just to ask where they bought the loaf. He stuck out his little hand and gladly took the store-bought bread and the grape juice in the little cup from his friend’s dad. He ate and drank and headed back to our pew to squirm and color. 

My son was correct in his statement. I’m sure they bought the bread at the store. I wondered for the first time if the church had a Costco account. I’m pretty sure it is just King’s Hawaiian bread and grape juice they buy in bulk. It made me wonder who provided the meal that night a long time ago, in the upper room. Then, it was also just bread and wine in a cup and twelve friends around a table. Where the meal came from did not matter. What made it important was who was there and the words that were said. What matters most is that Jesus was willing to be broken and spilled out for them. And for me. 

Once a month, I tear off my piece of grocery store bread and drink my plastic thimbleful of grape juice, and remember how ordinary things can become so holy. 

Bring All Your Worries to God and Receive His Peace

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Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7 (CSB)

If we’re honest, sometimes it’s easier to stay busy, to keep going at an unsustainable pace, because we don’t want to face the anxieties and realities that are right under the surface. Keeping our hands and minds busy feels productive, and worrying about every possible what-if situation can give the illusion that we’re in control. But worry, control, busyness — none of those things give us true peace.

Instead, true peace comes from having the right posture. When we pray, petition, and present our requests to God, we become grounded again. We remember that God is still real, He’s still present, He’s still in control.

When our minds start to unravel, let’s practice this posture:

Open palms.
Deep, slow breaths.
Our bodies, our minds, our hearts surrendered and at rest.

And as we do, let’s bring all our worries to God and receive His peace.

How can we pray for you?

Is your heart full of worry? Let’s share in the comments below and come to God in prayer. Remember to write out a prayer for the person who commented before you.

Even in the Worst of Times, Jesus Will Not Fail You

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Almost five years ago, I gathered with an army of women for an incredible time of worship and prayer unlike anything I had experienced before at the Mary & Martha conference. We sang boldly with conviction, “This we know, we will see the enemy run. This we know, we will see the victory come. We hold on to every promise You ever made. Jesus, You are unfailing.” 

We had no idea what battle we were preparing for, but we were ready. 

It was also almost five years ago that my husband Brian and I finally made the decision to move our family into a new home. A new home we had prayed about, saved for, and contemplated for years prior.  

Nine days after moving into our new home, Hurricane Harvey threatened to wreak havoc, not just on our new house, but on the entire city. We needed to evacuate, so after praying we took the first photo in our new home in front of our “It is well” tea towel that was already adorning the wall. Two days after evacuation, our mailbox was completely submerged, and the inside of our home was flooded as well. Our house was demolished. Our savings would be drained. Our walls were destroyed. I was devastated. It felt like a death. But then I looked up. Hanging all over our home were reminders of truth. Messages of hope that I had chosen to be foundational to our family. Purposeful pictures plastered everywhere. 

The “It is well” tea towel hung stoically in the stark air. The reminder helped me breathe again. 

The next three months were a blur of demolition, decisions, and dust. They were also days filled with creative provision in the form of gift cards, meals, bills paid off anonymously, and gatherings. Yes, I continued to work when it would have been easier to hide under the covers. I knew the Lord could abundantly provide for our needs through my persistent efforts, and it was a comfort to be around believers who spoke encouragement and truth over my girls and me. I enjoyed my time away from the sheet rock, grout, and saw noises. 

And the fall proved to be even more abundant than I could have ever imagined. I broke my own Mary & Martha sales records two months in a row…the Lord was just showing off and abundantly provided. 

But in the midst of it all, PTSD began to set in. My home was back in order and, from the outside, it looked like everything should be alright. However, I started having migraine headaches, my stomach hurt continuously, my face tingled and was constantly broken out, and I could not sleep with any regularity. I had CT scans and psychiatry appointments. The enemy even bombarded my mind with the most horrific of thoughts. I knew I was not doing well. I shared with friends how indifferent I felt about life. Nighttime was the worst because that was when I was attacked most rigorously. Just as I would lie my head on my pillow to go to sleep, destructive thoughts would bombard my mind. But I did not hide them. I did not try to fight alone.  

Two days after an incredibly intense battle, I was to lead the worship and devotion for the Mary & Martha spring conference. I had been transparent that I was in a tough spot, but I had not revealed the extent of what I was battling. I was told I didn’t have to lead that portion of the weekend, but I knew this was a declarative statement to the enemy. You might have won a few battles, but through Christ, I would win the war. You might have tried to take me out, but I would be victorious! God’s purposes for me are good. He would never want to harm me! He has plans for a hope-filled future. I am His voice of truth to the world, and you will NOT silence me! 

 After I shared a short devotion, I shared my struggle and sweet friends embraced me in an imaginary hug. Moments later, I stood arm in arm with this precious army of women and declared with loud certainty, “This we know, we will see the enemy run. This we know, we will see the victory come. We hold on to every promise You ever made. Jesus, You are unfailing.”

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We love this story of faithfulness from Erica Stidham, an Executive Director with Mary & Martha. Mary & Martha is a DaySpring company where you can create your own schedule, share your faith through inspirational products, earn unlimited income, and belong to a sisterhood of women. Mary & Martha allows you to combine your faith with your work through the products you sell and the women you gather with.

If you’d like more information, discover the Mary & Martha difference today!

 

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Be Still. Now Move!

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“What’s your plan?” she asked me.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I responded, stunning both her and myself. One of my superpowers is a good plan, but this time I felt at a loss as to what to do.

“I have some ideas and I’m doing my homework. But honestly, I have no idea the right course to take. God is going to have to lead me through this mess one step at a time. It’s beyond me.”

In the months before, I’d found myself in the middle of a life-altering crisis. It was big — bigger than any crisis I’d faced before. And that’s saying something, as I’ve faced more than my share of crises.

But this one was different. All-consuming. Complex. Emotionally charged. With no clear path and very little I could do to affect the ultimate outcome. I felt as if I stood in a field of land mines, unsure which direction offered life and which offered death. A single choice could change everything, forever.

And that’s when I thought of Exodus 14, and another group of people in a similar land-mine scenario.

After hundreds of years of slavery in Egypt, God sent Moses to set His people, the Israelites, free. It was an answer to countless prayers, relief from their endless suffering. With joy, they followed Moses out of Egypt, praising God for His kindness and deliverance.

Until their journey took them to the shore of the Red Sea. The land God had promised them sat on the other side of this impossible expanse. Worse, their slave master, the Egyptian Pharoah, changed his mind about setting them free. Determined to get his cheap labor back, he set out in pursuit with the full threat of his impressive army.

Thousands of Israelites — emaciated and weary from a lifetime of slave labor — faced an impossible sea on one side and an angry army on the other. A life-altering crisis, no doubt. And one without any clear path of escape.

This story has always been a favorite of mine, probably because of its realness. It’s messy, complicated, and full of human and situational complexity. Much the same as the crises you and I find ourselves in the middle of today. This is why God’s direction to the Israelites through Moses holds hope for us as well.

“Moses answered the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.’ Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘Why are you crying out to me? Tell the Israelites to move on.'”
Exodus 14:13-15 (NIV)

I shared this story with my friend. Then I did my best to answer her original question.

“I think I’m in a similar situation right now. I feel like I’m surrounded by disaster, and I have no idea how I’m going to get through this in one piece. But I believe God’s words to the Israelites are also His words to me.

First, I need to be still. I cannot let fear and anxiety rule the day. Instead, I need to get grounded in the fact that God is real, and God is with me and for me. I can trust Him, no matter what happens. My heart and mind need to stand still on that truth. Period.”

That in and of itself isn’t easy to do. I took a breath, feeling the weight of what God was asking me to do, yet again.

“That said, stillness isn’t the only thing He was asking of me. I also need to move.”

I did my best to explain. “From these verses, I gather this kind of stillness isn’t a lack of action, a sitting on the couch watching Netflix waiting for the sky to open and Jesus to whoosh in and solve all my problems. The threats I’m facing are real, and I need to have wisdom in how I deal with these threats, both practically and spiritually. To that extent, I am making some preliminary plans, researching options, and getting wise counsel.

But like the Israelites on the shore of the Red Sea, I’m also waiting for God to tell me when and where to step. He’s the only One who can deliver the miracle I need. He’s the only one who knows the best path to take. So I’m waiting on Him, confident in His presence and provision. But I’m also moving forward, to the best of my ability, in that confidence.”

Be still. Now move! 

Friend, what is your impossible situation? Regardless of the uniqueness of your story and your pain, there is a God who is able to deliver. In fact, salvation is His specialty.

Get grounded in that truth, that you have a God who is bigger than any ocean or army. One who sees you, loves you, and knows exactly what you need. That is your stillness, even while everything around you rages.

Then, with that truth as the anchor of your soul, move. Take steps forward. Use the wisdom and advisors God has given you to walk in faith. Trust Him. Follow Him.

Be still. Now move.

Your promised land awaits.

 

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Welcoming Women Through Our Wounds

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This past Spring I found myself sitting next to a pool with a fellow writer. While the sun burned our shoulders, we slowly shared the way we both had been burned in friendships with other women. Though we had traded texts and voice memos for years, we had never swapped the story of one of our hardest mutual sorrows. 

This friend has been a safe place for me. We relentlessly support each other. People probably roll their eyes at how we talk about each other online, because we practically gush. What they don’t know is that behind the scenes we say even more. We’ve built a friendship where I know without a doubt that we are for each other. 

When she succeeds, my heart soars. 

When she laments, I let out tears. 

We hold both hope and happiness for each other.

As we packed up our towels and books and trudged tired and content back to our hotel rooms, we unpacked the source of why we have become each other’s support. 

Our wounds.

Tears welled up in my friend’s eyes as she shared how another friend had wounded her and how that relationship had made it hard to trust other women wouldn’t just do the same. When she let me witness her wound, it was like witnessing my own with new freedom.

I grabbed her arm and looked into her eyes. “Now I know why I feel so safe with you,” I said. “Me too. That happened to me too.”

Years ago, when I was first stepping into my vocation as a writer, I was desperate for a writing friend. Misery loves company but so does wonder, and I longed for someone with whom I could share not just coffee but conversations about craft. I thought I was forming connections with other women, but I found myself in competitions in which I had never asked to be a part. 

Looking back, I never felt fully safe or accepted in those early friendships, but loneliness can blend like concealer, covering up all the flaws and lack of safety looming in a person, painting them into who we wish they could be for us rather than who they currently are. 

There’s a reason “catfight” is a colloquialism, and a terrible one at that.

In a male-dominated culture that’s fueled by both scarcity and individualism, we women are conditioned to treat each other as competition. People have been slinging around the word catfight since as early as 1854, when an author named Benjamin G. Ferris wrote that polygamist Mormon women often fought over their shared husband, resulting in a new norm of separate houses to discourage the women from not only yelling but pulling out each other’s long braids from their bonnets. (I am not making this up!)

Interestingly, the term catfight doesn’t have a male counterpart. I can’t help but wonder: are women meaner than men or are we just conditioned by a still patriarchal society to be cruel to one another? 

We learn young that there’s apparently only so much room for female voices to be heard. So we shout louder, make ourselves shinier, or shrink into the shadows when we’re afraid we’ll be elbowed out of the way. We women are simultaneously taught to be competitive and then judged as less than human—catty—when competition turns cutthroat.

Capitalism tells a compelling story about what it takes to win in life, but the gospel tells a story where Beloved is the name God gives us whether we accomplish anything amazing at all or not.

Scarcity shouts loud, convincing us to become either bullies or beggars—hoarding goodness and opportunities for ourselves or assuming there’s not enough room for us at all. But Goodness and Love are not scarce resources.

When women treat one another as competition, we crush each other’s capacity to show up as our full selves.

Maybe the catfights of female friendships are a grand distraction from the wonder that would happen if we really welcomed each other. Maybe the powers that be in this world would be disrupted into dignity and delight if we women showed up strong and saw each other’s strength not as robbing from our own but reinforcing it.

There’s a story Jesus told in Luke 15, really an echo of Psalm 23 where God sets a table for us in the presence of our enemies. (I tell this story in greater detail in my new book, The Lord Is My Courage.) Jesus says that God is like a woman who has lost a silver coin in her home. She rummages for it. She gets down on the ground to find it. She searches through darkness and grime. And when she finally finds this lost coin, she invites her friends—who culturally we can assume were women—over for a feast to rejoice that what was lost was found. 

What if we women most emulate God when we seek for what is lost and precious and when we find it—whether it be words or work or wholeness—we feast with each other? 

My friend has taken her wound and made it a place of welcome. She took the friendship that was lost and she made it a place others can be found.

Instead of returning evil for evil, she decided to become the kind of writer who cheers when other writers succeed. 

Instead of treating other women as her competition, she cultivated a way of offering compassion. 

Instead of closing the door of her heart and hoarding all the food of her wisdom to herself, she sets a crowded table, where there’s room for any woman who is willing to collaborate rather than compete. 

Right before I started writing this article, I listened to a voice memo from another writer friend who’s feeling afraid there might not be room for her voice. As I sat down at my desk, I lit a candle a fellow author sent me last week while Brandi Carlile’s voice started to croon from my computer and memories of seeing her in concert with another female artist friend wrapped around me like a hug. And I knew, even though women have wounded me deeply, they have also been the source of great welcome.

The wounds that we tend can become the place we most welcome others. 

When women support women, we all become more capable of showing up as our full selves.

 

P.S. My friend in this story is fellow (in)courage contributor, Rachel Marie Kang. And she’s got a beautiful book coming out in October called Let There Be Art: The Pleasure and Purpose of Unleashing the Creativity within You. 

 

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How to Keep Steady in the Midst of Unsteady Opinions

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I think it’s safe to say that I am not the only one who gets encouraged when people like my social media posts and choose to follow me. I would also confidently say that I am not the only one who gets her feelings hurt sometimes when people write mean comments and choose to unfollow me. When I think about likes and follows, many things come to mind, but one thing in particular is the word inconsistent.

I remember one time I was streaming an Instagram Live and I had someone tell me that I was hideous and mere moments later someone else tell me that I was beautiful. I laughed a little bit to myself because I just thought about how confused I would be if I took both of their comments as truth. Within a matter of seconds, I would have gone from thinking that I was hideous to thinking I was beautiful.

If I believe deep down that I am defined by what people have to say about me, then I am setting myself up to constantly wrestle with what is actually true about myself.

My mother-in-law once shared with me that there are times when we need to be rubber and other times we need to be a sponge. She said that there will be times when I hear words from people that I need to let bounce off of me and not take ownership of. At other times, there will be words people share that I do need to receive and heed. If I don’t have the discernment between when to soak up words versus when to disregard them, I could very easily take hold of words and opinions that are not mine to keep.

I believe we do this a lot on social media. We are sponges to every positive comment, every follow, and every like. But because we are sponges to these things, we also soak up every unfollow and rude remark. When we believe that our identity is associated with whether we are liked and followed, we are living for the approval of people. We will post only what we think everyone will like. We will dress only how we think everyone is expecting us to dress. We will say only what we assume everyone is desiring for us to say. If we do this for too long, we will end up exhausted and unable to even recognize ourselves.

Seeking to please every human is a burden that we were never designed to carry — an expectation we can never possibly meet. This is why it is so important that we know what God says. Walking in accordance with God’s Word keeps us steady in the midst of unsteady opinions.

When we get wrapped up in what people are saying about us and find ourselves willing to conform for the approval of people, we must pause and be honest about who we really want praise from. We cannot live for the approval of God and the approval of people.

Jesus said something in John 12:42-43 that catches my attention. To set the scene here, there were some authorities who believed in Jesus, but out of fear that the Pharisees would kick them out of the synagogue, they stayed quiet about their faith. In verse 43, Jesus said of them, “For they loved human praise more than the praise of God”.

Wow.

This stops me in my tracks. People wanting to be liked and followed is not new. A couple thousand years ago it showed up in a synagogue and today it shows up on social media and in a myriad of other ways. People are going to like you one minute, and people are going to unfollow you the next. That is not a question. But the questions are: Does the approval of people hold more weight on your heart than the approval of the Lord? Do the words of people hold more weight than the words of God? Do you believe your worth is summed up in what people have to say about you or in what God has already said about you?

Let’s all sit with that today.

– This article is written by Emma Mae McDaniel. Emma Mae is a lover of Jesus and people, an author, and a speaker. Emma travels throughout the country speaking at conferences and retreats to be a messenger of God’s Word. Through social media, YouTube, and her podcast called “Have You Heard?”, Emma seeks to glorify God and invest in the lives of thousands worldwide. 

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God is the only One who gets to identify who we are. In her new book, You Are: Realizing Who You Are Because of Who God Is, Emma Mae breaks down thirty labels that women of God struggle with ― either because we think we deserve the “bad” labels or don’t know how to embrace the “good” ones.

This book helps you understand that God knows who you are: You are talented and inspiring and brave; you possess both confidence and tenderness; you are protected and gentle and amazing. Interactive elements guide you to embrace your value and place as a woman of God.

Order your copy today, and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of five copies!

Then join Emma and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife for a chat all about You Already Are! Tune in tomorrow, 8/3/22, on Facebook and/or Instagram for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 8/5/22 at 11:59 p.m. CST.

 

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Encouragement for the Days You Don’t Feel Good Enough

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I’m curled up on the corner of my couch, laptop in front of me, thoughts swirling in my mind. It’s been one of those days when no matter how hard I tried I still felt like I fell short. Have you ever had one of those days too?

I click keys and spill out my thoughts. I fill up the page and then hit “delete.” I do this over and over, clearing out the clutter of my inner critic. I keep going until I type one line that makes me pause…

Just because something I do could be better doesn’t mean it’s not good enough.

That might seem obvious, but to me in that moment, it felt revolutionary. Because until then I would have typed those words differently…

If something I do could be better it means it’s not good enough.

That is the anthem of perfectionism, the anxiety-provoking mantra of the “try harder” tribe to which I’ve belonged my whole life. I can tell you this from experience: those kinds of expectations will make you crazy. Because here’s the reality, we are not in heaven yet and therefore everything can always be better. If I wait until everything is as good as it can possibly be before I let myself be happy, I’ll be waiting until the day I die.

I place my fingers back on the keyboard and I type one more statement . . .

Just because YOU could be better doesn’t mean you’re not good enough.

This is what grace means: that we in all our mess and brokenness are still enough. It means Jesus went to the cross and rose from the dead so that we could be holy and whole. It means that when He said “it is finished” He also declared “it is enough” over our humanness.

The enoughness we long for can’t be found in improving our performance or becoming a perfect person. It can only be received, not earned. This is transformational, heart-freeing news.

I start writing statements . . .

Just because I could be a better wife doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.
Just because I could be a better writer doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.
Just because I could be a better friend doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.

How would you fill in that blank?

Just because I could be a better ________ doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.

We live in the tension of who we are now and who we will one day be in eternity. Despite our best intentions, we will mess up today. Even when we try our hardest, we will fall short. This is the frustration and limitation of being a human on earth. But it is not something we can fully fix; instead, it’s a reality to embrace. Why? Because it shows us how much we need a Savior.

I finally stopped typing and had a list of at least twenty statements I’d completed like those above. It felt like a weight had lifted from my heart. I went online and found a hand-lettered image of the word “enough.” I put it on my desktop as my screensaver so I could see it over and over again. (I briefly considered getting it tattooed on my wrist but I’m scared of needles so we’ll go with this for now.)

It’s the word so many of us need to hear today: Enough.

Yes, we will always continue getting better at what we do, becoming better as we grow into the people God created us to be. This is the joyful work of a lifetime that God promises to complete the moment we step into His presence. But the incompleteness of that process now doesn’t mean we are failing. It’s so important for us to know deep down that’s true. Maybe it’s a reminder you needed too.

Just because you could be a better ________ doesn’t mean you’re not a good enough one.

That’s true today no matter what because of what Jesus has done.

 

Holley Gerth’s brand new devotional, What Your Mind Needs for Anxious Moments: A 60-day Guide to Take Control of Your Thoughts, releases next month! Want a sneak peek? You can read the first 3 devotions for FREE! If you’re among the 1 in 5 Americans who have anxiety, enter your email here and you’ll receive encouragement from Holley’s new devotional right away.

 

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Finding Faith When Tragedy Strikes

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 “Marie, this just happened this afternoon. I’m wondering if our parents know anyone there.” 

This unexpected text from a close friend jolted me from my peaceful, picture-perfect SoCal Sunday. Suddenly, the news of a shooting at a Taiwanese church in Laguna Woods became very personal. More texts trickled in about elderly friends — those I grew up calling auntie and uncle — who were there for the worship service but left early, and then one who was present when the shooting occurred during their luncheon. 

Amahs and agongs, like those whom our family had shared many meals with and gathered for Bible study in my childhood home, now were attacked in a senseless act of violence. 

Tension permeated my whole body — my shoulders tightened, jaw clenched, exacerbating my TMJ, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I found it difficult to concentrate, my heart heavy with the weight of it all. I kept checking the news, looking at my phone, wondering and hoping that there wouldn’t be any more names added to the list. 

I felt shocked and grieved that this tragedy could happen in the same church building where my sister had her wedding. How could a place of joyous celebration become such a place of deep grief? What explanation should I give to my young daughter when she points at my sister’s family wedding photo and asks, “Is that where the shooting took place?”  

During times like these, I find comfort in knowing that God understands my inner groanings when words elude me. God embraces me when I vent my gut-honest cries and unanswered questions. 

 “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”
Romans 8:26 NIV

God’s Word provides space for us to process our pain through songs of lament. God assures us that He hears our cries and cares. 

“You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry.”
Psalm 10:17 NIV

Being in a posture of lament shifts my perspective. Oftentimes, I admit, it is much easier to depend on my own strength and try to figure things out myself. But God wants me to recognize my limitations and come to the end of my self-dependence, so I can truly find rest in Christ as I cry out to Him. 

It seems so counterintuitive, but if we can be in control of all of our circumstances, where is there room for faith to grow? Jesus encouraged the apostle Paul when healing on this side of heaven still had not come, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9 NIV). Likewise, I don’t need to be afraid or ashamed that I don’t have all the answers. 

As a daughter of Taiwanese immigrants, I grew up attending a church composed of families from across the Asian diaspora. Church became more than just a place of worship; it was also a haven for elders and parents to speak their native language freely and be understood. Church was a refuge where immigrant families found community, belonging, and assistance as they transitioned to living in a new land. Now this sanctuary no longer felt safe. In fact, nowhere felt safe.  

Through this incident, Jesus taught me that true peace is not found in a place on earth but in the presence of God. Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NIV). 

As I listened to pastors pray passionately in Taiwanese a few days following the shooting, I felt encouraged by their faith. This incident had shaken them, but they continued to cling to God, instead of their fears. God was holding them close, and He would hold me and my family too. 

Their prayers reminded me that no matter what happens, God promises to be with me, even when things don’t make sense. “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39 NIV).  

Nothing can separate us from His love.

 

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Why You Need to Keep a Radar on the Storms in Your Heart

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The first time I moved to New England it was for seminary. As a student, I wasn’t very aware of what was around me. I was there to study and stayed mostly on campus. I didn’t really know what was going on in the community beyond my church on Sunday mornings. But I did work at a local country club, teaching golf lessons, caddying, and selling pro shop merchandise. It was there that I first started to pay attention to the weather.

We would always have Doppler radar open on the computer and could tell when a storm was rolling in. We knew how to watch for shifts in the wind and the humidity because there’s nothing worse on a golf course than thunder and lighting. Turns out, you don’t want to be holding a metal pole in the air when it strikes.

When the storm was too close for comfort, we started standing by the door, waiting for the first distant rumble and once it was heard, we sprung into action. Grabbing a nearby golf cart, our resident golf pro would hop in and speed to the top of the course with an airhorn in his hands. He would fly up the hill to the highest point and blast the horn, signaling that it was time for golfers to come in.

It was not optional and it was imperative to their well-being that they make their way (quickly) to the clubhouse. We would grab their clubs, shuttle them to the parking lot, and wish them well, never giving them the option to risk staying out on the course. Avid golfers will stay on course in all kinds of conditions — wind, fog, rain, even snow —but the moment thunder rolls, all bets are off.

Those years built some sort of internal radar in me so much that I’m often the person in my friend group who knows the exact weather on any given day. I can tell you what conditions are ahead, not because I’m anxious, but because I’ve learned to pay attention. Thunder doesn’t rumble out of nowhere and storms move in over time.

Sometimes, when I start to pay attention to my own heart, I can sense when a storm is coming. When I am not spending time in God’s Word or haven’t been getting enough sleep or things are stressful for whatever reason, it wears on me and starts to have consequences. Patience wears thin, perspective gets lost, and before I know it, words start to show up that strike and threaten to set fire to relationships or opportunities.

In Luke 6, Jesus says, “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” And what He means is that when we say something unkind or brutally honest to the point of destruction, that was simmering in our hearts first. It wasn’t a sudden accident — it was on the radar beforehand.

Each morning, when I wake up, I check the weather and wind speed and conditions in the sky, and it’s a good practice to spend some time asking the Lord to meet me too. To ask, as the psalmist says, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23-24 NIV).

Look for storms on the horizon, friend. Not just because you don’t want to get caught in the rain, but because when the thunder rolls, you’re in for danger if you don’t come back in.

 

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How the Holy Spirit Convicted Me About Not Saying a Blessing in Public

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Years ago, my sister-in-law offered one of the most helpful slivers of counsel I’ve ever received. It went something like, “Her convictions may not be the same as your convictions, so you aren’t going to view or respond to the circumstances the same way.” The encouragement was liberating in that it stopped (or at least slowed) me from projecting my expectations on others. What I might do or say in any given situation was what I believed everyone should do or say. Remembering this advice has also helped me tremendously as politics and the pandemic have slapped our world silly.

One of my convictions developed after a season of spiritual wandering where I questioned many of my long-held beliefs. As a recovering people-pleaser, I began to realize how at least a portion of what I professed was prescribed by pastors, teachers, Bible study leaders, and friends without me even realizing it. That meant in contrast to the Holy Spirit convicting and leading me, what I espoused as my belief was sometimes derived from what others thought or said. To see that at times I was simply parroting the beliefs of influencers in my life was a rude awakening that, ultimately, thankfully, proved to be transformative.

Complicated and at times disorienting, the deconstruction and subsequent rebuilding of my faith were healthy. It led me to detach from people and what they thought in order to seek and attach to God.

Reading Scripture, praying, and earnestly desiring to know God in His fullness (and not what other people told me about Him) caused me to examine practices and traditions I had once considered central to my faith. It may sound heretical or maybe just silly, but one of those traditions I began struggling with was a mealtime blessing, particularly when I was with friends in public. More often than not, it felt like we were just checking a box, doing what we thought “good Christians” were supposed to do rather than actually praying to God or sincerely thanking Him for our food. On some level, Jesus’s words to the Pharisees resonated with me (although in a softer measure):

“Everything they do is done for people to see.… You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.”
Matthew 23:5, 27-28 NIV

Too often it seemed like mealtime blessings were a performance, not prayer, and to protect my fragile faith, I could no longer pretend. While I knew that Jesus expressed gratitude before eating, there was something disingenuous about my public prayers most of the time. They felt like what Jesus was talking about when He referenced Isaiah’s prophesy in Mark 7: “These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me” (in context Mark 7:1-13 NIV).

Please hear my heart: I’m not suggesting that praying before a meal is wrong! For goodness sakes, Jesus prayed before meals! But for me, during a tender season in my faith, I needed my prayers to be tethered to Father, Son, and Spirit, not to obligation or mindless tradition (which if I wasn’t careful, could happen with a mealtime blessing).

Well . . . it turns out that God can use even my wonky convictions to point me to His love and grace.

A few weeks ago, I met a group of dear friends for dinner, sisters in the faith who always point me to Jesus. When we pray before a meal, we’re genuinely inviting God into our midst, praising Him for His provision (food, friendship, and everything in between), and asking Him to guide our conversation. I still wrestle with my complicated “blessing conviction,” but I know these girls and their hearts. We’re praying, and it has nothing to do with obligation.

After a dinner that nourished body and soul, our darling waitress dropped off our checks. As Jasmine returned with the copies for us to sign, she said, “I just have to tell y’all… I rarely see a group of women eating together and encouraging each other the way it appeared you did. It was a blessing to me to see friends praying.” Of course, we all wanted to scoop her up and take her home, especially when she added she hoped to find a few friends she could get together and pray with. We invited her to a local community Bible study we attend, and I looked her square in the eyes, slipped her my business card, and urged her to please reach out. (I’m still hoping to hear from her.)

She was encouraged because we simply prayed. Our mealtime blessing was a blessing to her.

God used a complete stranger to challenge my perspective and to remind me that I never know who’s watching. I never know how someone might be impacted by the smallest, sincere expression of my trust in Jesus — an expression that could have easily gotten lost in my own “blessing conviction” and resistance.

Like my sweet sister-in-law suggested all those years ago, we don’t all necessarily share the same convictions about exactly how we live out our faith, but we’re all daughters of the same God, privileged to bear His image to a world who is watching.

How sweet of God to transform a thorn to a rose, a prickly conviction to a blessing for others.

 

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Lessons from Highland Sheep and What It Really Means to Love Jesus

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Everywhere we looked, the beauty took our breath away. From steep cliffs to large pastures of sheep and cattle to waterfalls surprising us at too many turns to count on the single-track mountain roads. One of us was always saying wow! Or, look to the right! Or, highland coos to the left! Or, did you see that? And yet, as we gushed over the landscape, we were reminded that the magic of this place was also thick with melancholy.

The Scottish Highlands was our last of three stops on a recent family vacation to the United Kingdom. While I loved all the places we visited in the UK, this particular place will stay with me for a long time.

The peaceful pastures, ragged rock ruins, and signs with both English and Gaelic throughout the northern half of Scotland are mysterious and magical, and they are also a reminder of the brutal history and strong spirit of the Scottish people. In the 1700-1800s, entire highland villages were forcibly removed from their land to make more room for sheep and to erase highland culture. Along with the removal of people, the Act of Proscription was passed to force assimilation. The law prohibited bagpipes, traditional clothing (Clan tartan), and the teaching of Scottish Gaelic.

Ruined rocks of remembrance scattered throughout the Scottish highlands reminded me that the land and the people who lived there have grieved and were grieved against for the sake of power, profit, and control.

In John 21, Jesus gives His disciple, Peter, a three-fold command to feed His sheep. Our resurrected Jesus appeared and took the time to feed His disciples on the shore of Galilee. He then asks a full-bellied and full-spirited Peter if he loves Him. Each time Peter declares that yes, he loves Him, and Jesus responds to that declaration with a command to “feed His sheep.” Jesus was telling Peter that loving Him, the Shepherd and King of kings, would be proven by his feeding, caring for, and tending to, Jesus’ sheep — His people. Peter’s love for Jesus and his leadership had to be motivated by serving others in love — never to be proven by proclamation, power, and profit.

It’s easy to imagine Jesus holding a soft fluffy sheep or standing among a flock with a shepherd’s staff, but when we were walking through pastures full of sheep, I was struck by the smell and how hard it was to dodge the sheep droppings that covered the grass and walking paths. The sheep huddled together in groups, adorable but leery. They were cautious of us, constantly skittering away to keep a safe distance. They were much messier, more varied, mistrusting, and wild than I would’ve imagined them to be.

Living out our love for Jesus isn’t tidy or time-efficient. Love suffers long, and it’s willing to walk through messy, smelly pastures for the sake of another. Living out our love for Jesus isn’t shiny or brag-worthy; it is ordinary and often wearisome work. To care for people made in the image of God, Jesus’ beloved “sheep,” requires that we regularly tend to our identity as those who are loved and created to love, nourish, and tend to others just as we have been by Jesus.

The history of highland clearances seems removed and far away from my daily life and experience, but when I think of the relational strife amongst my kids, and how wearisome it can be to work through the same issues day in and day out, I see myself and how often I want to control them instead of gently love them through it. I think of the family member whom I find little in common with, how often I’ve rolled my eyes over their comments or wished they would change or see things my way. I think of the parts of myself or others that I struggle to accept and want to squish into the image of another, and realize that the lie of assimilation comes for all of us in some way, shape, or form. I think of the weeds that keep growing in our yard, wishing there was some instant magic to get rid of them all and how if there was, I’d choose it instead of the hard, sweaty, repetitive work of weeding over time. Again and again, I see in myself a tendency towards fixing what’s wrong in my own power, taking over, pointing my finger, and letting fear of what I don’t understand in someone else motivate me, instead of curiosity and humility.

While the world weeps with so much historical injustice and present pain, I feel overwhelmed by how much there is to tend to. I find myself faltering behind the cowardly laziness of “why bother?” Or I sink into the overwhelm of trying to take in too much. I ask Jesus, “How long?” Then I hear His voice and His heart again saying, “Do you love me? If you love me, feed my sheep.”

This gentle command is somehow enough to remind me who I am, who my neighbor is, and to help me begin, rest, then begin again.

 

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Your Mind Is a Temple

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Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
Romans 12:2 (ESV)

If practice makes perfect, what thoughts have you perfected by repeating them to yourself constantly? These are becoming your automatic thought patterns.

In the brain, renewing your mind literally means creating new, stronger neural pathways. This process is called neuroplasticity. You can think of it as trying to pave a new path through solid ground. The more you tread through this new path and create deeper tracks, the easier it will become to identify and walk down that path. Like building muscle, the more we strengthen certain pathways in the brain through practice, the easier it is to access those pathways.

In that same light, as we adapt to practicing healthier ways of thinking, new thought patterns can become a more consistent way of life for us.

Another of the beautiful complexities that is woven into the human mind is this superpower called metacognition. Metacognition is your ability to think about your thoughts. This means that you can separate yourself long enough to examine your own thoughts. And if you can think outside of your thoughts, this is proof that you are not your thoughts.

Just because a thought exists doesn’t automatically make it true. At any moment, you have the ability to take a step back and choose between which thoughts you will align yourself with and which you’ll reject. It’s this very process of metacognition that allows us to “take every thought captive to obey Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5 ESV).

Isaiah 26:3 reminds us that “[God] will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in [Him].

How you feel about yourself or your circumstance today doesn’t change God’s call over your life. If a thought doesn’t align with who God created you to be — loved, forgiven, redeemed, secure, full of purpose, made for good works — then it is the thought that is flawed. It is the thought that needs to be changed and brought into alignment with the truth that never changed.

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.
Philippians 4:8 NLT

The Bible says that your body is a temple, but have you considered your mind as a part of this temple? How would your relationship with your thoughts change if you truly saw your mind as a temple — a sacred space worthy of intentional care, nurturance, and surrender?

You take your mind with you everywhere you go. How you interpret and respond to the people, events, and interactions around you is translated through your mind. This is why our thought life is worth paying attention to. But the health of our minds is also made up of what we’re feeding it.

Reflect on what has been allowed constant access to your mind that may have contributed to your feelings and attitudes this week: whether that positively or negatively impacted you, or simply drained you. And give yourself grace. It’s natural to live on autopilot, especially when life feels overwhelming.

Use this moment to reclaim your mind and decide: What does it practically look like to care for this temple that you’re living in every day? Keep this in your heart: my mind is a temple worthy of intentional care to live from a rooted place.

Today, as a simple practice, I encourage you to make note of a negative thought that typically comes up for you and write down at least two alternative ways to think about it. Sometimes just opening your mind to another option can help with perspective. It doesn’t mean that we’ll have perfect thinking, but it does mean that we can move through life differently and that there is real hope for getting better at renewing our minds.

Because in Christ, we’re no longer striving for worth but living from worth. Rest in that today.

–This article is written by Brittney Moses. Brittney is a writer, speaker, advocate, and psychology graduate of UCLA who encourages the integration of faith, holistic mental health, and wellness. She hosts the Faith & Mental Wellness Podcast and loves hanging out at the beach with her husband and son.

—

Many of us are struggling at the intersection of our faith and our mind. We are bio-psycho-spiritual beings — body, mind, and soul. It all works together. If one is off, the others are off.

The fifty devotions by Brittney Moses in Worthy: 50 Mindful Moments to Bring Clarity and Peace to Your Day meet you at that intersection, helping you to mind the moments so your body, mind, soul balance stays in line. The resulting clarity and peace will overwhelm the doubt and insecurity that builds up from when we compare ourselves to others or hide our true selves. Through simplistic design, and short, yet impactful messages of peace and clarity, along with inspirational quotes and research-developed mental health trackers, you will be able to declutter your mind and focus on your personal wellness on a daily basis.

Whether you need a total digital detox or just a little more balance, Brittney Moses has gathered the information and inspiration to help you achieve your goals with Worthy, which releases next month. Preorder your copy today, and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of FIVE copies!

Then join Brittney and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife for a chat all about Worthy! Tune in tomorrow, 7/27/22, on our Facebook page for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 7/29/22 at 11:59 p.m. CST.

 

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The Fruit of the Struggle

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After playing the last note to their duet, our then eight-year-old daughter shoved the music sheet back toward her big sister and forced herself to take a bow before stomping off the recital stage. As her sister proceeded to play her solo piece, our little girl cried in my arms, defeated and disappointed.

Though both girls performed their solos flawlessly, their duet didn’t go as well as they had hoped. After the recital, my husband and I tried to revive them with encouragement. We reminded them that it wasn’t about a one-time performance but about celebrating all they had accomplished throughout the year.

For weeks I had observed our girls practice their duet, watching them push and pull as they figured out their rhythm and flow together. The entire process was a symphony of struggle. Trial and toil harmonized with surrender and accomplishment. Conflict and strife played bass while fun and entertainment played treble. Tears were our low notes, and laughter were our high notes. There were days when notes and personalities clashed, and days when music was made. I cheered them on on the days when they got it right and coached them to persevere on the days when practice wasn’t making perfect.

But when my girls were deflated by their less-than-perfect performance, I realized I had taught them to celebrate success and had failed to teach them to appreciate struggle. I hadn’t emphasized the value of commitment to a challenge — the challenge of learning something new, of enduring through frustration, of resisting the urge to attack each other, of co-laboring, and not giving up. Come to think of it, acknowledging struggle is common. Less common is noting and appreciating all the gifts that challenges provide along the way.

I wish I had thrown a parade for my girls after each practice to mark the accomplishment of a struggle. I wish I had helped them understand that though the process is ugly, it is the perfect way to help them cultivate all kinds of beauty — beauty that looks like persistence, surrender, patience, grace, teamwork, and sisterhood regardless of their talent.

I wish I had taught them what I had learned when the church plant my husband and I had dreamed, planned, and toiled for failed. Planting a church had been the most grueling work we had ever done together, and after three years of struggling, we had very little to show for all that we’d given and all that we’d given up. In the trailing dust of defeat and discouragement, we couldn’t see how immensely the struggle had gifted us.

But now we can look back and clearly see God present and working through the struggle, providing immeasurable depth and breadth to our marriage, securing our foundation, and binding us together even more. While it has felt counter-intuitive (and probably socially unacceptable) to celebrate the struggles and failure of a church plant, I have learned to do just that!

When Israel was doubtful and discouraged during their struggle, through Isaiah the prophet, God encouraged them:

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
Isaiah 41:10 NIV

Sometimes, in the midst of struggle, we lose sight of God’s presence, of what God is showing us about ourselves, of the divine purpose in the process. We don’t have to be afraid of struggle, nor do we have to struggle in fear. God has auspiciously entwined struggle, reward, and fruit. They are inseparable. I have learned to express gratitude for each. In so many of life’s circumstances, struggle can be the more significant and enduring reward.

I am getting better at celebrating in the midst of the struggle, and I am teaching my children to do the same. Fortunately, I’m sure life will give us many more opportunities to practice.

We all know struggle. We all know the disappointment of failed expectations. And we all have felt discouraged, defeated, and deflated when an outcome isn’t what we had hoped. But we can know that because God is with us in the midst of our struggle, we don’t have to be afraid and our labor is not in vain. We can face the struggle expecting to learn, grow, and gain immeasurably.

 

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What to Do When There’s Nothing You Can Do

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A few months ago, I went on a trip with friends. Together, we spent a handful of incredible days without a single person demanding a single thing from any of us. It was glorious and I am still overwhelmed with gratitude for the time away.

However, my trip ended bittersweetly. The morning I was scheduled to return home, my phone blew up. In the span of a few minutes, I received an email, text message, and voicemail — all informing me that my oldest daughter’s school was on lockdown and that the district would keep us posted.

Keep me posted?!

As you can likely imagine, I immediately freaked out. I texted my daughter and asked if she was okay. I called my husband and asked if he knew anything more than what I’d read in the text message. He did not, but thankfully, my daughter replied quickly and said she was fine.

But still, what is “fine”?

As the day wore on, I learned that the issue had been drugs rather than violence, and my daughter was physically safe. But during that lockdown, she was stuck in a rather upsetting situation that began with bullying and ended with shouts and tears and countless hurt feelings.

I was miles and hours away, and my daughter needed me. I couldn’t get to her and, in her anxiety, she could not understand. She was not okay and, therefore, I was not okay — and I couldn’t do a thing about it.

Except pray. I could pray. And I did pray, a lot.

At every opportunity, I talked with my daughter on the phone and in between those tearful conversations, I prayed. I asked God to comfort my daughter (and me), to make His presence known and felt, to help her get to sleep, and help me calm down before my final flight. And while it was a rough day for both of us, we made it. God was with us, and we made it through.

Now, don’t get me wrong. She was still upset. I was still shaken by feeling such intense fear and concern for her while so many miles away. The next day when she told me every little detail of her horrible, no good, very bad day, she cried — and I cried too. Praying didn’t magically erase every problem or pain. But when I couldn’t fix what was hurting my daughter, praying reminded me that even separated by miles, we weren’t alone. It reminded me that God was with us both.

I’m so grateful we are created and loved by a God who wants to hear our prayers. I’m thankful He loves us so much He will meet us whenever we need Him and wherever we are — whether that’s in an airport far from home, the floor beside your bed where the kids can’t see you from the door, or the parking lot where you wait for the end of soccer practice or band rehearsal.

This world can be frightening and parenting (as well as marriage, ministry, friendship, or simply being a human) can be challenging. So many situations leave us feeling helpless and overwhelmed, convinced there’s nothing we can do to help. But the most important thing we can do when we feel like there’s nothing we can do is to pray.

No matter how unprepared or ill-equipped we feel, no matter where we find ourselves — in the break room at work, in the middle of a long list of errands that won’t run themselves, or in our child’s bed after another nightmare — we can pray. In every situation God is with us, ready to listen and comfort and guide us. He’s with us and saying, “Come to me . . . ”

Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28 (NLT)

 

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Create in Me a Heart of Peace

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It happened more than twenty years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. The ring of our dorm phone jolted me from a deep sleep. My roommate reached over and picked up the beige receiver. “Hello?” Sarah said in a froggy voice. I rolled over on my top bunk in annoyance — my one morning without an early class!

After a brief minute, Sarah hung up the phone and said, “That was my mom. There’s been a terrorist attack.”

The words hadn’t even registered when Sarah turned on our tiny box TV. We watched as a second airplane crashed into the Twin Towers on the live broadcast. My mouth fell open but no words came out. I couldn’t comprehend what I was witnessing.

As the news slowly spread throughout the dorms (this was long before the days of smartphones and social media), so did a sense of panic. RAs came knocking on doors announcing that classes were canceled and the entire campus was shutting down out of an abundance of caution. We were on the opposite coast, but could another attack be coming? Would Los Angeles also be targeted?

The phone lines were jammed, so I pulled on a T-shirt and a crumpled pair of jeans and walked to the building next door to see my boyfriend. We congregated in the dim hallway with a couple other friends from our college ministry group. After sharing our shock and fear, someone finally said, “We should pray.” So there on the dingy carpet, with fellow students coming and going, we sat and prayed. For those trapped in the burning skyscrapers. For the first responders and everyone who inhaled the ominous gray plume of ash and debris we watched sweep through Manhattan’s streets. We asked the Spirit to groan for that which our group of nineteen- and twenty-year-olds had no words.

Eventually, our small gathering dispersed, leaving just me and my boyfriend. His eyes revealed a troubled soul. “Do you want to come back to my room so we can watch the news with Sarah and see what’s going on?” I asked.

“No, but I would like to go somewhere… just us. To talk.”

He grabbed my hand and we hiked up the long, paved hill toward upper campus. The image of that plane piercing the building kept playing in my mind. I couldn’t swallow the lump in my throat.

At least we’re together, I thought, squeezing my guy’s hand. No matter what happens, we can face it side by side.

We finally stopped on the grassy knoll near the north traffic circle. A weeping willow bowed its branches away from a brick office, offering us a crescent cocoon of shade. He put his arm around me, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. We sat in comfortable silence, best friends not needing to fill the undeniable void of pain and confusion of this historic day.

Finally, my boyfriend shifted his body to turn toward me and inhaled a deep breath. I was eager to hear his sensitive and insightful thoughts on the attack. But instead he told me we needed to break up.

Breath left my lungs like I’d been punched in the gut. Again, I felt disoriented, unable to grasp what was happening. He was the one. The one who stole my heart with his dimples and curly hair. The one who earned my trust with his unfailing honesty and integrity. We shared the same major and served together on our ministry leadership team. Every picture of the future I envisioned had a ring on my finger and his arm around my waist. I loved him. How could this be happening?

We talked and cried until there was nothing left to say. I couldn’t change his mind. I couldn’t fix it or turn back time. We walked slowly back to the dorms and said goodbye.

I spent the rest of that day and night in bed. My eyes ached from crying, and I felt a physical pain in my heart. All sense of safety and security had vanished. My future was a shattered mess of broken dreams. It felt like a brick pressed on my chest. It was hard to breathe.

One morning a few weeks later, I opened my Bible after another sleepless night. I didn’t even know what to read, so I opened to John because it was familiar. I skimmed a few passages, and then a word jumped out from the page like a 3D special effect. PEACE.

Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Don’t let your heart be troubled or fearful.
John 14:27 CSB

In the aftermath of 9/11 and in the wake of that devastating breakup, God was inviting me to change the way I defined peace, and change where I looked for it. Living in a prosperous first-world country is no guarantee of peace. Peace doesn’t come from titles like boyfriend and girlfriend. That heartbreaking September showed me that the peace the world gives is temporary, circumstantial, fallible.

But God offers a different kind of peace. Lasting. Unshakable. Perfect. When the whole world fractures or my own life shatters, the peace of Jesus is still available because the person of Jesus never changes.

Whether we’re in a time of crisis or just trudging through the struggles of ordinary life, we can entrust our troubled, fearful hearts to the one who is worthy of our trust.

Dear Jesus, thank You for offering a peace so different from what the world gives. Without You, my heart would be perpetually troubled. Fear would be a constant companion. I acknowledge that I can’t control my circumstances or strive for peace. I surrender my life and heart to You. Please use this study and time in Your Word to create in me a heart of peace. Amen.

Start living with a peace that changes everything.

Meet Create in Me a Heart of Peace, the new (in)courage Bible study from DaySpring, written by Becky Keife and featuring stories from your favorite (in)courage writers.

Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you.” So why are we still wracked with stress and anxiety? Why do we look at our world, our own churches and neighborhoods, and see anything but peace? What causes this disconnect between what we read in Scripture and what we often experience in our own lives? 

If you’ve ever asked yourself these questions, then this is the Bible study for you, friend.

Create in Me a Heart of Peace will help you experience an inner calm-meets-strength that can’t be rattled by volatile circumstances or swallowed up by busyness. You’ll discover that the peace of Jesus is more powerful, practical, and applicable to our lives than any counterfeit version this world could offer.

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

Sign up for a FREE week!

 

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You’re Not Stuck, It’s Just a Matter of Time

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A couple of months ago at work, I sat in on a company-wide marketing presentation. It was focused on current and trending ‘aesthetics’ that our younger consumers are identifying with and that are showing up on TikTok and in memes. Some of the concepts and verbiage were new to me. For instance, did you know that ‘coastal grandmother’ is a whole vibe? A quick google search shows recent articles in Elle, Vogue, BetterHomes & Gardens, and The Atlantic all focused on this style and trend involving crisp white button-downs, high-waisted khakis, and neutral-toned cable-knit sweaters. Think Diane Keaton or Ina Garten. One article stated, “If you’ve ever felt the desire to take a long solo walk on the beach in a button-down and a woven hat — there’s no question that you’re a coastal grandmother through and through.”

I don’t know about you, but I have more of a ‘work-from-home mom of kids on summer break’ vibe.

Just as I was thinking I was simply not hip to the trends, the presenter mentioned one final aesthetic during this corporate presentation: goblin mode.

Yep. You read that right. Apparently, goblin mode is also a whole vibe. This trend entails sweatpants. Hoodies and stocking caps. Embracing stretchy pants and yesterday’s mascara. One article refers to it as “a rejection of anything aesthetically pleasing”.

And when the cute, chirpy speaker tongue-in-cheek style presented on goblin mode, I actually thought, Now that’s an aesthetic I can get behind.

I’ve realized that some of the extra things I used to fret over and even enjoy simply don’t make my to-do list anymore. I can’t remember the last time I put a tablecloth down over my worn wood table. It’s not uncommon for me to pick up yesterday’s outfit and re-wear it. It’s July, and we just put in our garden. After being folded, the laundry only gets put away once company is confirmed to be coming or when one of the kids complains about having to paw through baskets. That’s about the time that kid is handed said basket and told to put it away.

I’ve long written about sharing our real-life living. About not hiding who we actually are. About embracing imperfection and ordinary glory. These are the concepts of my heart and what never fails to resonate with me. And I’m the first to share my dust bunnies and takeout for dinner, survival mode and burnout owning, living on grace and caffeine. But man, does it feel like I’ve been stuck in goblin mode for a while now.

There’s another trend floating around right now where you identify your ‘toxic trait’. I’ve seen everything from “my toxic trait is thinking I need an iced coffee every time I leave the house” to “my toxic trait is wondering if this food that normally hurts my stomach will hurt my stomach TODAY.” Usually lighter, witty, and relatable, these memes and tweets make me giggle. They also leave me pondering my toxic traits, which I’ve realized include: testing the limits of dry shampoo, putting leftovers in the fridge knowing full well I will never eat them, and thinking that whatever the situation is (good or bad) it will probably last forever.

Combine that last trait with the allure of goblin mode, and boom — that’s where I found myself during that corporate presentation. Feeling a little bit ashamed that I couldn’t pull off coastal grandmother, and that I’d probably be stuck in goblin mode forever.

Oh, friends. We are never stuck in just one place. We have a good God who loves us way too much to leave us mired or marooned. Scripture is full of people who feel stuck and the God who rescues them — often from themselves. A particular set of verses came to mind as I thought I might be stuck in goblin mode:

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3 (NIV)

These verses from Ecclesiastes come right after two chapters where the writer rends everything meaningless. Over and over, the words ‘everything is meaningless’ lead into the gloomiest phrases, reminding us that nothing we do matters, that no one will remember us, and that wisdom and work and pleasure and play are all meaningless too.

Then, these verses on the time we do have, and all that is meaningful. And they remind me that maybe, instead of restrictive permanence, we have the gift of ebb and flow. Of turning tides. Of coming and going.

Maybe we aren’t stuck where we are. Maybe we’re just here for a bit of time.

God doesn’t say how much time, so it’s true that we don’t know how long we will embrace and how long we will refrain from embracing. We don’t know the length of time that we will be silent or the length of time we will speak. God didn’t tell us exactly how long our season of scattered stones would last. He didn’t spell out what transitioning from mourning to dancing would look like for each of us. The specifics may be read between these lines, but the black and white of them remain.

Friend, not all of us will go from goblin mode to coastal grandmother. We will still pick up iced coffees and leave the laundry in baskets for too long. But friends, we’re not stuck forever. It’s always just a matter of time.

 

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