Don’t Let Old Jeans Make You Keep Looking Back

Don’t Let Old Jeans Make You Keep Looking Back

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I recently found a few of my clothes from college in a box that was tucked away in the garage. They say fashion trends come back every ten to twenty years, so I was pretty excited to see my favorite pair of jeans in that box. I quickly ran to my closet to put them on. I started planning the top and shoes I would wear with it. All of a sudden, I realized these jeans weren’t coming up past my thighs. I wiggled and jumped. Nothing worked. I yanked on the belt loops so hard, for one final try, only to rip them off. I was furious.

I stared at the long mirror that hung on the back of my closet door. I carefully examined the curves of my hips, the cellulite on my thighs, and the stretchmarks on my waist. I almost didn’t recognize this body. It wasn’t how I remembered it. I mean, I was never skinny but how could I not get these jeans past my thighs? They were my jeans! Tears began to flow. I was angry and frustrated at the reflection I saw in the mirror. I peeled the jeans off my legs, threw them into the corner, and ran out of the closet. I lay in bed feeling bad about myself for a few hours.

Later that week, I was working with an older gentleman who needed physical therapy for weakness and balance. The whole session he kept telling me about his conquest in college and all the sports he played and how now his body was practically useless. Finally, I spoke up and reminded him to focus on his present functional abilities and how far he had come in therapy. I told him that his younger body did what he needed it to do then, but right now his body was doing all the things he needed now. I encouraged him to honor his body for what it was today instead of comparing himself to his past.

When I got home that night, I saw that old pair of jeans lying in the corner of my closet. I went over and picked them up. In that moment I realized that so much had changed in twelve years, including my pant size. I had gotten married, started a career, had two babies, traveled, and lived so much life. I don’t want to go back to 2010; it was a great year but I am grateful for where I am right now.

I decided to take the advice that I had given my patient and honor who I am today. I wasn’t going to resent my body for not meeting an unrealistic goal or punish it through dieting. I decided to throw my twelve-year-old pair of jeans in the trash and stop looking back. In doing so, I thought of Lot’s wife.

Do you remember her? The one who was promised to be saved from destruction only if she would flee without looking back. But she looked back at the life she was asked to leave behind and she was turned into a pillar of salt. This is an Old Testament story that Jesus recalls as a warning to His followers. “Remember Lot’s wife!” (Luke 17:32 CSB) Lot’s wife had a good life and a guaranteed future, but she glanced back at what had brought her comfort instead of focusing on her current call in life.

Something magnetic happens when we look back at the past. The nostalgia pulls us in like quick sand — slowly we are lost in our memories. And the “glory days” or the “good ol’ days” make it hard to find contentment in the present days. It is hard to choose to step into an unknown future when we can sit back and live in the comfort of yesterday’s memories. So Lot’s wife serves as a reminder to forget the former and focus on the future.

Here are two passages to reflect on today: 

“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
Isaiah 43:18-19 (ESV)

“Forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
Philippians 3:13b-14(NASB)

I was salty over a pair of twelve-year-old jeans not fitting me, just like my patient was about not being able to jump hurdles at the age of eighty. Friend, God is not done with you. He isn’t disappointed that your gifts and talents look different today than they did ten years ago. He wants you just the way you are, right now. The curves, the stretch marks, and the cellulite are part of the story too — don’t wish them away. Instead, know that they are part of your call for today and tomorrow. So no more turning back.


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Living Deeply Rooted

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I wrote this note to myself a few years back when I was really struggling, and I wanted to share it with you:

“She was in the middle of this weird season. Not really sure how to feel or even what she needed to do to get out of this funk that made her feel so stuck. She tried including herself in many social events, even signed herself up for some classes at her local gym. She wanted with everything in her to get away from the loneliness that seemed to follow her. The busyness of her schedule didn’t seem to affect the late nights that seemed to keep her up at night. She longed for clarity in understanding this new transition that left her feeling so isolated — so alone. As she continued through these long days that seemed to weigh heavy on her, she began asking herself the questions that brought tears down her cheeks,

God, am I not good enough? Is there something I seem to be missing? Something I need to be doing?

Is there something wrong with me?”

There was a season when I felt like I was far away from God. It was as though God was ignoring every prayer and thought of mine. I was longing for His presence, yet somehow it was as though I drifted even farther away. If you have ever felt this way, please know you are not alone.

As my mind began to plant seeds of doubt and I began to question if God was really here for me, I was reminded of this very verse, “The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged” (Deuteronomy 31:8 NIV).

God will never leave me. He is for me and will always be with me. No matter how far I feel from Him, He is present. Even when seeds of doubt try to take root, I must not water them. I keep His promises rooted and engraved on my heart. Never will He leave me. Never will He leave you.

Let’s pray:

God, thank You for never leaving me. No matter how far away You feel, I know that You are for me — I know that Your presence is with me. Replace my doubt with Your everlasting love and joy, Lord, and help me to see Your works in my life. Amen.

This is an entry from my new devotional journal, which was birthed out of one of my darkest seasons. It is my hope to encourage those who have ever felt the way I once did. As you are allowing your roots to go deeper, I pray that you stay connected to the Source, relying completely on God. Let Him be who you lean into for your strength and guidance.

May you grow and live deeply rooted (from Colossians 2:6-7).

–This article is written by Sopha Rush. Sopha is a Jesus lover, author, and the founder of Live Deeply Rooted. She loves keeping it real and sharing her experience of motherhood, marriage, mindset, and ministry.

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100 Days of Living Deeply Rooted: a devotional journal by Sopha Rush offers a safe place for readers to be transparent, honest, and vulnerable — a place to examine their highs and lows, the struggles, the victories in their lives with inspiration and motivation from the Bible. Each of the 100 short devotions includes a Bible verse, prayer, and real-life encouragement.

100 Days of Living Deeply Rooted releases next month — preorder yours here, and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN a copy!

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

 

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You May Not Feel Like the Right Person but the Holy Spirit Is

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I sat on the front stoop of my church building, head cupped in my hands. It was hot, and the sun beat down on my shoulders. I could feel the sweat beading along my neck, slowly dripping down my back. 

“So, I think there’s been a mistake,” I told God. “You’ve got the wrong girl.” 

A little less than a year ago, I quit my job as a news producer at Canada’s largest broadcaster. In a complete plot twist, I discerned God leading me to pastor and plant a church. (In case anyone tells you following Jesus is boring, let me be the first to say that’s not true at all.)

In the span of a few months, I went from producing news stories to pastoring a group of people and preparing to launch a church this fall. 

I had a laundry list of reasons why God had the wrong person. I hadn’t gone to Bible college. I was a twenty-something-year-old girl. I didn’t know anything about hiring staff or managing a building or running a church. I mentally ran through all the things I needed to do: choose paint colors, stay on budget, find volunteer teams, and figure out who would cut the grass and take out the garbage each week.

I shook my head and prayed again, “I’m not cut out for this, Jesus. I can’t run a church. I can’t do this.” 

Discouragement settled on me like a weighted blanket for the rest of the day. I was convinced this wasn’t going to work. Why on earth had I decided to leave a well-paying journalism job to pastor a church plant? 

Later that night, I went on a walk with Jesus. It’s my favorite way to talk with Him. The sunset was streaking pink and lilac across the sky as I poured my heart out to Jesus. I confessed every fear and insecurity I had — telling Him how terrified I was that I might mess this up for people, that I might somehow become a barrier between the people I pastored and Him. 

But you’re not their Savior. That’s up to Me. 

I took a deep breath, and then another one. His words lifted the blanket of discouragement right off me and replaced it with peace. 

Jesus says His burden is light. When I feel like the work I’m called to is causing me to feel more heavy than light, it’s a good cue to consider if I’m trying to be God instead of pointing people to Him. It’s not up to me to save people. That’s up to Jesus. It’s up to me to love God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength, and to love others in the same way. It’s up to me to become as passionate a disciple of Jesus as I can, and to invite others to do the same. It’s up to me to become involved in my local church, surround myself with community, and practice spiritual disciplines that take me into a deeper union with God.

But it’s not up to me to save anyone. That’s all up to Jesus.

Perhaps you feel like you’re not the right person for the job. You might have a long list of reasons why you think God’s got it wrong. You might be convinced you’re not enough or not cut out for this. You might think you need more education or more money or more faith. You might think you can’t do it because you’re a woman.

You may not feel like the right person. . . but the Holy Spirit is — and He lives in you. 

God has given us His very Spirit to live and dwell and take up residence within us. When you follow Jesus, you have all that you need. The Holy Spirit equips and empowers you. He counsels you and guides you. 

David once prayed, “May Your good Spirit lead me on level ground…” (Psalm 143:10 NIV) When you follow the Holy Spirit, He may take you on an adventure that you never expected, but He is a good God who will lead you on level ground. With the Holy Spirit equipping you, empowering you, leading you, and filling you afresh each day with more of Him, you’re exactly where you need to be. 

You may not feel like you’re the right person, but the Holy Spirit is. And He won’t leave you for even one second.

 

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You Are Important

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As I scroll through Instagram, I see friends from high school buying a new home, a college roommate pregnant with her second child, a youth group pal getting engaged. As a late-20s and happily single working woman, my first reaction 95% of the time is genuine joy for others. Good for them, not for me! But some days, the endless highlight reels overwhelm me, and I unwittingly turn up the volume on the enemy’s lies. When I get stuck in the seemingly endless loop of comparison, lies begin to assault me from all sides. Lies like: You should have accomplished more by now. You should be where they are in life. You are missing out on all life has to offer.

What these accusations are ultimately driving at is the lie that I am not important. But that simply isn’t true. Satan, the father of lies, condemns, guilts, and berates. In contrast, God is the Father of clarity and of truth.

God says: You are right where you are meant to be. You are not behind. You are important.

God has me, and you, nestled in the shadow of His wings. He has a perfect plan for us. Even if it isn’t what you would have mapped out, you are so immensely important to Him that He has planned something far greater than you could imagine for your life. And the crazy thing is, once we tune our hearts to God’s voice and reject Satan’s lies, we will experience surpassing peace. A peace that can only come from Christ.

For example, I used to feel discouraged about my singleness. In Christian culture, being married is often seen as the norm. I get asked all the time — at church, at work, from friends and family — how dating is going. But the thing is, I don’t have a burning desire to date and get married. I love my community here in Nashville full of families with young kids, single people, and empty nesters. And I’m content — actually joyful — in this season. But when so many people ask me questions about dating, and when I see that I’m often the only single person in the room, every so often I let the lies seep in. Sometimes I get discouraged and start listening to the “shoulds”—I should do this, I should pursue that, I should be exploring this. I’ve learned through the years that when I catch myself feeling discouraged in my relationship status, I need to turn and fix my eyes back on His truth — the truth that I am flourishing in this season, that I am content and called, and then my peace is restored.

However this plays out in your life — the way your calling or season looks different from others’ — know that it doesn’t mean you are any less important or valued. Tune in to God and His truth as you tune out the lies of Satan and the persuasions of people. You are important, just as you are.

Our lives all look different because God created us each in unique ways to fulfill different purposes for Him and His kingdom. Your life doesn’t look like theirs because it wasn’t meant to. Take a minute, put down your phone, and remind yourself: You are right where you are meant to be. You are not behind. You are not missing out. You are important because you are His.

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.
Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)

Let’s pray: Jesus, I thank You that You are Emmanuel — God with us. Thank You that You are with me in this season of life. Please keep me from comparing my life to those of my friends and family today. May I be able to rejoice with them while not turning inward to comparison. Holy Spirit, prompt me with reminders of Your truth when I begin to listen to lies. May I rest in the truth that You are with me here and that I am important because I am Yours. Amen.

This article was written by Ellen Wildman, as featured in Everyday Faith Magazine.

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Sisters, as we continue in the summer months of relaxation (or regular work) and reflection, we keep coming back to the theme that we are holding tightly to this year — You Are His. When you wonder if anyone notices, God says you are important.

We pray that you experience eternal hope and encouragement every single day, which is why our friends at DaySpring created the Hope & Encouragement Bible just for you. This Bible amplifies 12 indisputable truths about who you are in Christ, such as: you are known, you are blessed, and you have a reason for hope. These truths equip you to recognize and embrace your treasured place in God’s heart so that you can experience eternal hope and encouragement every day. They are here to remind you that you are His.

Click here for a free download of the full books of Proverbs and Romans as well as additional content from the DaySpring Hope & Encouragement Bible!

 

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No Shame in Going Gently

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Last month I ran in a trail race called Shadow of the Giants near Yosemite National Park. Through the years, this race has become a favorite to run with my friends. The course winds through the Sierra National Forest. It’s always a feast for the senses as we run alongside the giant sequoia trees with their enormous trunks pointing toward heaven. 

The first 4.5 miles are uphill as the elevation soars above 5,000 feet, but it’s all worth it when you get a whiff of the intoxicating scent of the forest, see the paths painted with wildflowers, and hear the symphony of rushing water below. 

I trained for this race for three months, but three weeks before the race I tested positive for COVID. Thankfully, in about a week I recovered from the worst symptoms and tested negative. But I struggled with some strange breathing patterns all the way up to a few days before the race. My chest tightened even when I was resting, and I couldn’t seem to get the deep breaths I was used to. 

My body felt strong enough to run the 20k, but I was nervous about what my breathing would be like at that higher elevation. My friend and I drove up the night before and stayed about twenty minutes from the starting line. We hoped this would help us acclimate to the elevation and get a better night’s sleep.

By God’s grace, I didn’t have any breathing problems during the Shadow of the Giants race, though I definitely had to take it easier than I have in years past. Our group of mama runners jog-hiked quite a bit of the race. There were times when I thought maybe I should push harder because that’s what I would have done before, but my spirit said to stay steady and savor the journey. There was an invitation to go slower and not feel ashamed about it.

This was a profound example of something much bigger. As we are coming out of this pandemic (if I can say that?), we need to go gently. We need to listen to our bodies and the pace of our souls. It’s tempting to jump right back into the frenetic pace, the striving mentality. But as I learned in my race, I don’t have to strive and sprint at that pace anymore. My body needs time to heal and my lungs space to breathe. That’s not something to take lightly.

In the final mile of the race, I noticed this butterfly flitting near my shoulder. Butterflies have been special to me since my husband’s cancer diagnosis in 2014. On the day my husband and I received the most devastating news of our lives, God brought me a butterfly.

I can still hear my daughter’s excited voice: “Mom, come look!” 

Hovering over a bush with the other kids huddled around her, she motioned me to join them. I entered the circle of eight-year-olds full of wide-eyed wonder. Then I spotted what had drawn their attention: a butterfly with paper-thin wings of pale yellow outlined in inky black. We held our breath and took in all of its intricate glory. It felt sacred that this butterfly was letting us all lean in so close. 

This seemed like such a small thing, but really it was a big thing. God used that butterfly to remind me of the miracle and metamorphosis that happens in us when we depend on Him through trials. I needed that promise. 

A science teacher friend explained to me that the most surprising part of the life cycle of a butterfly is that she starts as a caterpillar who cocoons in a chrysalis. This is where the metamorphosis or change happens. If you opened the chrysalis in this middle stage, you would see a goopy, unidentifiable mess. But patience will reveal the butterfly pressing through the walls of the chrysalis and emerging with fully-formed legs, eyes, and wings.

The apostle Paul illuminated this idea in a letter to the Corinthians: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭5:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬). We are completely transformed by the new life we experience in Christ.

Whenever I see a butterfly, I am reminded that surprising beauty emerges from that stage in our lives when we are squeezed tight, when we experience challenges, when we lean into grief and loss. That is when the metamorphosis of our heart happens. Through the years, the butterfly has come to represent my new life born out of the ashes.

In the Shadow of the Giants race, that butterfly reminded me God hides us, cocoons us in His presence, presses us through the hard circumstances of life, and gives us strength to emerge on the other side with wings. That sweet butterfly inspired me and kept me company while I let my feet fly through the ferns to the finish line.

Friends, we have been changed by this pandemic and the trauma of the last few years. We have faced trials, sickness, violence, and fractures in our communities. In these days, weeks, and months to come, you have permission to go gently. If you are in the middle of that chrysalis stage, give yourself time to grieve and go at a slower pace. This is where the true metamorphosis happens. 

For weekly encouragement and helpful resources on how to discover God’s glory on life’s unexpected trails, subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram here or follow her on Instagram. 

 

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Coping with Life’s Storms — and the Threat of Storms

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Growing up in the heart of tornado alley, my family and I were in close proximity to no few number of funnel clouds. My childhood soundtrack consisted of Oklahoma City-based meteorologists, Mike Morgan and Gary England, telling me and my fellow Oklahomans not only where tornados were forming but where they were likely headed. Using Doppler radar, they could predict the direction tornadoes were traveling, essentially down to what street or neighborhood. I haven’t lived in Oklahoma for twenty-seven years, but I imagine the meteorologist’s ability to predict severe weather has only improved.

Whether it was because of the blessing of Doppler radar or my frequent exposure to tornado watches and warnings, I didn’t live in fear of storms. My dad never worried about tornadoes till he could lay eyes on one and see what direction it traveled. (This was easier to do because we lived on a plot of land surrounded by open fields.) Oh, he never downplayed their ferocity and never gave them the benefit of the doubt. We had protocols in place should a tornado put our home in its sights. But Dad didn’t panic over every tornado threat, and he taught me not to do so either.

Contrast that to a neighbor of mine, whom my husband and I lived next to as newlyweds in Ohio. He was terrified, TERRIFIED of tornadoes. On an uncharacteristically stormy evening in July, he pounded on our door, hollering the whole time that we were under a tornado watch. My parents happened to be visiting at the time, and my dad opened the door to find our freaked-out neighbor in hysterics. When the wild-eyed man finally ran out of oxygen and words, my dad said in his slow, Oklahoma drawl:

“Yep, we heard about the tornado threat. But it’s only a tornado watch, which means conditions are good for one, not that one has formed and is headed our way. There’s no need to panic. If the watch becomes a warning, then seek shelter. But even then, that doesn’t mean a tornado is definitely coming. Odds are good that all in all, we’ll be just fine.”

I don’t remember if a tornado formed that night or not, but if it did, it didn’t come near us, thank God. Dad was right: we were all just fine.

While I’ve had close calls with tornadoes, I’ve never been devastated by one. However, I have been devastated by more than a few figurative ones. Some were on my radar because of advanced warnings, and some came clean out of nowhere. They’ve affected me in such a way that the mere threat of one on the horizon can turn me into my former neighbor, panicking like its F5 arrival is a sure thing.

Advanced warnings or not, life will bring its tornadoes, whirling windstorms that wreak havoc on your location, your people, or your heart. While worst-case scenarios sometimes do come to pass, they often don’t, thank God. Yet, the threat of a storm (literal or circumstantial) — and certainly its arrival — can ramp up our anxiety all the same.

When this happens to me, here are three things that encourage me to endure through storms and avoid chronic panic, come what may:

1. Employ box breathing. I first learned about this from fellow (in)courage writer, author, and life coach Holley Gerth. Box breathing is the process of taking a deep breath for four seconds, holding it for four seconds, exhaling the air out of your lungs for four more seconds, then counting to four while your lungs remain empty. I can testify that this literally calms your nervous system and reduces stress because it distracts your body from its go-to anxious state.

2. Remember that while our circumstances change, God’s unchanging character and presence go with us. Whatever tomorrow holds, God will see you through it. He will make a way for you to get to the other side of it. Look back and remember how He’s gotten you through the stormy changes in your past. Look forward and trust that He’ll get you through whatever new storms find you too.

3. Know that today’s difficult storm is growing you in grace and grit for tomorrow. The older I get, the more I find that what looked and felt like a wind-whipping tornado at the time turned into a manageable rainstorm in hindsight as it enlarged my eyes to how God’s grace carried me through and strengthened my resilience. I say that not to minimize that big storm in your life — don’t I know how the memory of some storms stick with you. I say it to remind you that, as Ann Voskamp writes in WayMaker, “Strong winds blow the miracle of Red Sea Roads everywhere.” God’s grace is always larger than the storms we face, and any resistance you endure from life’s storms grows resilience within you.

I wouldn’t wish a real or figurative tornado on anyone, but I’m thankful that their presence can never shake away God’s presence — or His unshakable kingdom (Hebrews 12:28).

Our Father’s presence is the safest place to shelter — the place where we are cared for and held.

For more encouragement through life’s storm-riddled changes, consider Kristen’s book, When Change Finds You.

 

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Words Are Golden

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It was the year after I graduated college, and I found myself sitting in my apartment staring at my Bible. I knew that I should probably read it more often than I did, but honestly, it intimidated me. I never knew where to start, I felt like I was supposed to “get” something out of it for myself when I read it and was disappointed when I didn’t. And sometimes it just felt like another thing to check off my to-do list. Have you ever felt this way too about reading God’s Word?

To be honest with you, I found myself seeking words of encouragement and motivation from people instead of going to God’s Word first. The enemy would slip into my mind and lie to me saying, “Man’s approval will fill you more than God’s approval.” I ended up in a place that was isolating and lonely. I was seeking affirmation from the words of people, rather than going to the source that would be able to satisfy every longing I had.

In Psalm 19:9-10 it says, “The rules of the Lord are true, and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold.” A lot of times in the Bible when it says “rules” it means God’s Word and His teachings. So this verse here says, His Word, is to be desired more than gold. But think about the context of this. The value of gold when the Bible was written was the most valuable possession.

God’s Word is to be more desired than anything that exists on this earth! Our Bibles are our most valuable possession. Friend, I was not treating it that way. I wanted worldly approval. Scripture didn’t have the utmost authority in my life. We hide our valuable possessions to protect their worth, but God’s Word was not hidden deep within my heart.

I remember I had a moment with the Lord where I sat at His feet with all that I was feeling. I felt empty. I felt lonely. I was struggling with comparison and I just wanted to feel loved. I had come to the end of my rope and was desperate for the Lord. I felt Him speak to me, “Allyson, seek My face and I will seek you.”

I didn’t know where to start or what to do, so I just prayed, “Jesus, help me to have a deeper desire to know You and to be hungry for Your Word.”

And because the Lord is so good and keeps His promises, ever since then, I have had a hunger for God and His Word like never before. I think a lot of times the enemy makes us think that reading the Bible and getting to know Jesus is complicated. When in reality, it is simple. When we seek Him, when we make that 0.1% effort, God sees it. He is constantly pursuing your heart. He is constantly chasing after you, wanting you to experience His love for you.

His Word is life-changing. His Word is alive and active. His Word is what we can use to combat the lies of the enemy. I still have my moments of struggle. Do I read my Bible every single day at 6 a.m. with coffee in hand and in an Instagram-worthy spot? No. Reading God’s Word isn’t supposed to be something we do just to say we did or to check off of a to-do list. Reading God’s Word is something we do because we want to seek all of who He is.

God’s Word is golden, and your words can be golden too! Scripture gives us a deeper understanding of how we are to live our lives and speak life over others. Having God’s Word written on our hearts allows us to believe His truth for ourselves. He then gives us the strength to go out and speak the truth over others! When rooted in the Word of God that holds the ultimate power, your words have the power to change the world!

Here are four steps to help you dive into God’s golden Word today:

  1. Pray and ask the Lord to instill within you a hunger for His word.
  2. Start small, read one verse per day, then increase to one chapter per day.
  3. If you don’t know where to start, start with the book of Matthew.
  4. Order my journal Words Are Golden to help you dive deeper into the meaning of words in the Bible, how to live them out, and how to speak them over yourself and others!

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Then join Allyson and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife for a chat all about Words Are Golden! Tune in tomorrow, 7/13/22, on our Facebook page at 11 a.m. CST for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 7/15/22 at 11:59 p.m. CST.

 

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Am I Grateful or Do I Whine Just Like My Kids?

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My kids are fifteen months apart. All they’ve known is being with each other, occupying the same space, having a constant companion. My daughter is like my husband — logical, introverted, often craving space to herself so she can read or play unbothered. My son, on the other hand, is like me — affectionate, empathetic, always craving company and someone to play with. When they’re apart, they miss each other, wondering what the other is up to, what things they might be missing out on that the other is doing. They play well and fight well; it’s a can’t-live-with-or-without-each-other situation.

After separate playdates yesterday, I picked them up, and less than five minutes into the car ride home, they start arguing, their tones twisting into whines and their voices rising in volume and sass. I have no patience for this; they’ve been whining since they woke up that morning. So I yell,

“YOU’RE ALREADY FIGHTING?! YOU’VE ONLY BEEN TOGETHER FOR FIVE MINUTES! I’VE HAD ENOUGH TODAY! NO ONE CAN TALK UNTIL WE GET HOME!”

They scrunch their faces at me in frustration, but I don’t relent. We all need a timeout to take a breather, to let our emotions simmer down. Their last whines fade out, and as we drive the rest of the way home in silence, my anger subsides. I recognize my overreaction, and I remember the conversation my husband and I had about how it seems that every podcast or sermon or health tip we listen to these days talks about practicing gratitude.

Am I grateful or do I whine just like the kids do? Am I grateful for them? If they’re gifts from God, how do I practice gratitude when I’ve lost my patience and am beyond annoyed, when I’ve just yelled at them, when they don’t behave as I wish they would?

I check my heart and see the rigidity of my posture. When provoked, I often stand on a soapbox of my own righteousness and lord it over my kids, my finger wagging, my tone condescending. I feel entitled to them conforming to my ways, for them to obey me the first time every single time, for them to play well with each other and be happy and grateful.

Though I do want them to learn to listen, to respect me and each other, my expectations for their behavior are unrealistic. I’m asking for robots instead of children who need grace and reminders. And am I not also a child who needs the same things from the Father?

I’m not that much different than my kids; I also need to try again, to use my words nicely, to say sorry and ask for forgiveness. I get off my soapbox and relax my shoulders. I look into the rearview mirror and see their faces, obediently quiet. I can tell they’re ready to be silly again, and I’m grateful their spirits haven’t been broken.

Our posture determines our attitude, and I’m understanding more why so many people across the spectrum are talking about practicing gratitude. Gratitude changes our posture, and practicing gratitude means we must slow down our minds and our hearts to remember, recount, and recognize what we have to be grateful for. It helps us to make mental and emotional shifts throughout the day when it’s not going well, and it grounds us and gives us a better perspective.

Today has been much like yesterday, with the same arguments and whining, but my posture is softer, my heart more open. I’m running through the things I’m grateful for, and this is what I know:

I’m thankful for my kids, whom I get to raise and love and who make me proud and make me laugh. I’m thankful for second chances throughout the day, so we don’t have to be stuck in bad attitudes and crabby moods. I’m thankful for my husband, who has started asking us what we’re grateful for at the end of each day — a way to recalibrate and center us back to what’s most important. I’m thankful for the quiet hours of the night when I get to work, for the work I get to do, and for the rest I get to relish at the end of the day.

I’m thankful for the depth yet simplicity of living out our faith and for Jesus who walked the way ahead of us. I’m thankful that we are being constantly broken and reshaped into the mold of Christ. All is grace in Him, and all thanks be to Him.

 

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Coming Alongside Your Anxious Child

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As a kid, I often came through the front door bloodied from running through the rose bushes or falling down trying to race the wind on my rollerblades. The bright red scrapes and scratches didn’t bother me. I liked being rough and tough. So when I started to complain of frequent back aches, my mom knew it wasn’t a matter of having a low pain tolerance.

We tried stretching and heating pads and warm baths. But as the pain persisted, my mom didn’t hesitate to take me to the doctor. Unfortunately, several thorough examinations left us without any clear answers. No physical injury or abnormality could be detected. So what was the deal?

One day a doctor switched from asking about all my physical activity and started asking about my mental and emotional wellbeing. Was there anything particularly stressful happening at home? Actually, yes. My parents had recently separated and my dad moved out.

My doctor and my mom finally solved the puzzle of my pain: My body was having a physical reaction to mental and emotional circumstances. I was literally storing my stress.

Now as an adult with a diagnosed anxiety disorder, I can look back on my life and see how my anxiety manifested in several ways that my family and I didn’t have the education to identify at the time. I never told anyone about my racing thoughts and feelings of being outside my body — because that sounded crazy. I didn’t know that when I became paralyzed with overwhelm as a high-achieving student that it was my anxiety kicking into action.

In the ’80s and ’90s, mental health wasn’t a mainstream topic of conversation. Yet my mom could sense when something was off with me. I remember being allowed to stay home from school and taking a note to the office the next day that gave “overly tired” as the reason for my absence. I didn’t really understand what that meant since I was getting the same number of hours of sleep each night. But I see now it was my mom’s version of offering a mental health day. She saw that I was not fully okay — and made space for rest.

As parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches, aunts, mentors, and friends, we all have the privilege and responsibility of paying attention to children and adolescents. We don’t have to be trained mental health professionals to sense when something is off. We simply need to be attentive to the young people in our lives and ask God for wisdom to respond.

James 1:5 promises, “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.”

I’m the mom of three boys and have often made this verse my desperate prayer. Just like my mom couldn’t see what was happening inside my mind and how it was affecting my body, there have been countless times I’ve looked into the eyes of my own anxious child and felt at a loss for how to help. I’ve wiped tears and witnessed tantrums and received anger. I’ve listened to worry and sadness and a kid who feels like no one understands. And in my own frustration and at-a-loss-ness, I remember that what is true for me is true for my kid: Jesus sees. Jesus understands. And Jesus holds it all.

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.
Isaiah 40:11 (NIV)

So I ask Jesus for wisdom, ask Him to hold us in the hard, and trust that Holy Spirit will move. And He is so faithful to answer!

Here are three coping strategies that might help your anxious child:

  1. Practice gratitude: If your child is fixated on the negative, help them create new mental pathways by practicing gratitude. During a time when my son was prone to rehearsing all the bad things that had happened or might happen, we encouraged him to say three good things he was thankful for that day. Ending the day with gratitude trains the mind to see the whole picture and builds trust in God. 
  2. Journal what is known: At the height of the pandemic, my friend’s daughter was extremely anxious about the ever-changing restrictions and guidelines. My friend would repeat the same information over and over again, but it didn’t help ease her daughter’s mind. I suggested that she have her daughter write down what she knows. Then, when she’s feeling anxious, she can read back through her own words and write down additional questions. Her mom could then read the journal to check her daughter’s understanding and offer additional clarity and encouragement where needed. 
  3. Take five deep breaths: Shallow breathing is linked to increased anxiety, while deep breathing signals your nervous system to calm down. If your child is anxious or agitated, teach them “box breathing.” Start by exhaling to a count of four. Then hold your lungs empty for a four-count. Inhale to a count of four. Hold the air in your lungs for a count of four. Exhale and begin the pattern again. Breathing five “boxes” will help your child feel more centered and relaxed.

One of the worst things about anxiety is feeling alone in it and fearing that it will never change. Your job is not to fix your child or their problems, but you can let them know that you are right there with them and together you’ll find healthy ways to cope.

If a child you know is struggling, listen to them. Believe them. And ask God for wisdom to guide them. Sometimes that might mean taking them to a doctor or therapist. Or simply just lean close and be with.

 

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Finding God in the Pebbles in Our Lives

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We drove up the coast of Lake Superior, rolled up our jeans, and waded into the waves. We were embarking on a bit of an adventure “hunting agates” — a type of rock with beautiful bands that originally formed from volcanoes.

My family and I had no idea what we were doing, but nevertheless, we felt fantastic about our newfound skills. We collected so many special rocks! Look at us! Among the waves and the giggles and the chubby hands proudly showing me their bless-their-heart-clearly-fake agates as I was hunting real ones, I was marveling over how years of waves smooth the stones. 

“There’s a lesson in there somewhere,” I chortled. “The post practically writes itself!”

We stopped at a local bookstore, and I picked up a book about agate hunting — clearly our new hobby. I felt quite proud as we sat down with our book and our treasures.

Only it turns out . . . we’re miserable agate hunters. The whole lot of us. Not one discernible agate in the bunch.

I had this whole idea that these weathered stones actually contained something gorgeous inside — and wow — isn’t that like us?

Except the stones we picked were actually mostly just, ya know . . . rocks. Rocks! I felt like Charlie Brown after he gets rocks when he goes trick-or-treating.

Maybe the lesson is for us to enjoy the moment and not the end result.

It’s cliche but sometimes we need the cliche more than the profound. And we all need reminders to live in the present. To laugh when you stumble into the waves. To figure it out when you get it wrong. To laugh at yourself. To enjoy the presence of another. To be present instead of always looking ahead.

We all have different orientations to time. I’m a forward-thinking person, but maybe you’re one who tends to get lost in the past or focused on the present. I’ve been trying to be more present in my reality, but sometimes it’s difficult. How can I see God when I once again clean the bathroom? When my child asks the same question for the fiftieth time?

I can be so focused on what is to come that I miss the delight of being in God’s presence now. Of seeing the image of God in my life, in my neighbor, in myself now. 

I’m reminded of Elijah and his experience of hearing God. He expected to hear God in the crack of an earthquake, in the fire after the storm. But instead, God spoke to Elijah with a still, small voice (1 Kings 19:11-18).

We often think of God speaking to us through something grand. Through beautiful, multicolored gemstones. But what if God is speaking to us through the plain brown pebbles, too? 

I still have my little sandwich bag of gray and brown stones. I keep it in my office close to my desk. And when I hold the smooth tiny stones in my hands, I remember that God was with me then, is with me now, and will be with me in the future.

The Maker of all things delights in me — in you — because we are simply called Beloved. The sacredness of our time on Lake Superior wasn’t in the beautiful rocks, but in the laughter shared and memories made. What might you be missing out on if your future expectations distract you from the sacredness of now?

We think we find God in the fancy agates, but maybe we find God in the simple moment. Immanuel, God with us.

A Blessing for Finding God in the Mundane

May you catch your breath, even when the scenic views are the mountains of laundry.

When you feel most unseen, may you see your Belovedness reflected in every dirty dish, every traffic jam, and every piece of junk mail.

When you feel the scarcity of time, may you experience the timeless magic of a child’s laughter or a grandmother’s embrace.

When everything feels like too much, may you find laughter hidden in your pocket like a forgotten $5 bill.

When your body aches with the world’s pain, may a cup of comfort find your hands and infuse warmth into your weary soul.

And most of all, may you know that you are held in the palm of a God who knows you and sees you — who is present in every ordinary task and exhausting headline, who delights in your laughter and sits with you in your tears.

Who knows you, really knows you.

And loves you infinitely more than any words strung together could ever even fathom.

 

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What We Really Want Is Peace in the Middle

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I was half asleep on a summer morning, spreading butter across a cinnamon raisin bagel, when I heard these words coming from our TV: “The lion goes out on patrol every few days to survey his lands and seek out predators that could come against his cubs.” This simple nature fact came from one of the main characters of my daughter’s favorite shows, Wild Kratts.

The Holy Spirit jolted my sleepy brain awake. That’s what Jesus does for you. Not only does He guard you, but He goes out to seek and destroy the very real enemy on your behalf.

As I was pondering this idea, Gabrielle spoke up. “Look, Mom, that lion is like Jesus protecting us from the devil and all of his attacks!” It was like she read my mind. Where two or more are gathered, right? And this time, Jesus was confirming the idea in her and me.

Jesus going out on patrol like the Lion of Judah makes me feel more secure and a little nervous all at the same time.

I like that Jesus can be our Lamb of Salvation but never lose His mighty power as the King of all Kings. He doesn’t timidly wait for an attack from the enemy but seeks out the evil and destroys it on our behalf.

Jesus is not afraid of what we will or won’t do. He is not afraid of the devil or any form of evil attack. He will protect and provide for us as His children, and we can live in peace because He’s on patrol.

The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace.
Exodus 14:14 (NKJV)

I think my nervousness comes into play because I realize there is always a threat of attack. And sometimes, I feel alone when Jesus goes on patrol to protect me, even though I know I can choose peace — trusting He’s taking care of the situation. As other Bible translations say, I can stay calm, be silent, and be still.

I wonder if sometimes when we feel like Jesus is quiet, when we’re curious if our prayers are being heard, and wonder if He’s even there, that really, Jesus is inviting us to see Him as the Lion of Judah. He may be on an offensive patrol exactly when we think He is quiet in our lives.

Jesus is fighting for you. He gives you peace you can hold onto while He seeks the enemy on your behalf.

But it’s your choice to stay at peace while Jesus fights for you.

Every day this week, there has been an opportunity to choose peace in our family’s lives — the opportunity to choose to believe that the Lion of Judah is on patrol and that we can stay calm and trust we will not be conquered. Through health crises, extremely difficult work circumstances, financial situations, feelings of loneliness, and everyday stress, we got to choose peace and believe that Jesus was pursuing the enemy on our behalf, fighting our battles.

What we really want is peace in the middle, don’t we? We want to know in the middle of the diagnosis, job loss, feuding friend, political drama, ignoring husband, and rebellious children that Jesus will win, that we will not be overcome by evil.

In the middle of every form of attack we can face and when we feel like we’ve been left to face it alone, we can hold onto peace. The peace that passes all understanding, that only comes from the Holy Spirit. The peace Jesus left for us, so our hearts will not be troubled or afraid. The peace that Jesus gives because He is the “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, and [He] has triumphed” (Revelations 5:5 CSB).

You can cling to the peace that Jesus, as the Lamb, died to give you and that He, as the Lion, fights for you to hold onto.

No matter the circumstances you are facing, you will not be conquered. I’m going to choose to hold onto the peace Jesus gave me and look to the horizon for the Lion of Judah to return from His patrol as a victor on my behalf.

 

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If You Feel Like You Take Up Too Much Space

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See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!
1 John 3:1 (NIV)

I love traveling. I love airports too. Flying, though? I hate flying. See, I’m overweight. And while that fact is always present in my thoughts, never am I more aware of my extra pounds than when I fly. I hate flying because I take up too much space.

If I have the choice, I always choose an aisle seat. I hold my breath and suck in my gut and pray that the seatbelt will latch. And then I spend the next few hours squeezing my legs together and digging my elbows into my sides as I try to avoid taking up any extra space — in the aisle, in the seats, in the air.

My scrunched-up and sucked-in body language, along with my apologetic glances and occasional “sorrys” after the inevitable bumps and elbow rubs, is one big apology.

I’m sorry for taking up too much space.
I’m sorry for being too big.
I’m sorry for being in the way.
I’m sorry I’m kind of sweaty from speed-walking to the gate.
I’m sorry I reached over you to turn on my fan.
I’m sorry my leg bumped your leg.
I’m sorry I’m in the way.
I’m sorry you have to sit by me.

Maybe you fit just fine in an airplane seat. Maybe it’s something else that makes you hunch your shoulders and stare at the ground with red cheeks, apologizing for part of who you are, for just being yourself.

Are you clumsy? Perpetually late? Awkward? Too talkative? Too loud? Too quiet? Too sarcastic? Too much? Too real? Too you?

No, you aren’t. You are wonderful. You are loved. And when God looks at His creation (that’s you! and me!), He says, “It is very good.” Regardless of how anyone else sees us, we are God’s workmanship and masterpiece — and He lavishes His love on us.

If you’re tempted to apologize for who you are or how you are, please don’t. Remember that you have a right to be here, to take up space — in a conversation, on the airplane, in the grocery store aisle, at the moms group, in the world. And no matter how much space you take up or how you take up that space, you are welcome and wanted and loved.

Thank You, Lord, for being a safe place where I am called good, where I take up just the right amount of space, where I am seen and loved and welcome to be who I am, how I am, just as I am. Even saying that calms my heart and lets me breathe deeper. Give me the strength to truly recognize that no matter how anyone else sees me, I am God’s workmanship and masterpiece, and I am loved. Amen.

Today’s devotion was written by Mary Carver and appears in our devotional Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay. This collection of courageous stories from forty-four different authors will help you know you’re not alone. From struggling with weight, anxiety, and depression to suffering through miscarriage or grieving the death of a husband, from experiencing injustice and questioning our purpose to walking through church disappointments, loneliness, and infertility, the Take Heart writers share from the depths of their hearts and experiences. We want you to know beyond a doubt that Jesus is with you and you are — and always have been — loved.

Get 5 days of devotions from Take Heart for FREE — just sign up below and we’ll email them right to you. This book is an offering of hope, from one heart to another — sister to sister, friend to friend. We pray it helps you take heart and bravely face whatever you’re up against.

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The Aroma of Christ Can Smell Like Cigarettes and Bourbon

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Our minivan smelled like cigarettes and bourbon. It’s a smell that doesn’t wash out easily. Some smells can never be scrubbed clean. These are the scents that don’t just live in the cushion seams, but in my nostrils and stain my memory. When I was growing up, my mom would regularly pick up hitchhikers. The haggard hair of a homeless man or vacant eyes of a wanderer didn’t make her afraid, but compassionate. She would see a wayward person on Main Street, pull over, stretch her body across the passenger seat like a bendy straw, and barely reach the handle with the tips of her fingers. Then it came, that smell like a gust of wind. Smoke and alcohol.

Sometimes we would drive around for hours. She would tell the new member of our “van family” about Jesus. Between the train station and stop lights, she would listen, make eye contact, and ask questions. Sometimes it was a woman with her small children. Sometimes there were clothes stuffed into garbage bags. Sometimes there was silence from the stranger. But there was never a hesitation from my mom to drive miles out of the way to help a stranger.

Picking up people off the street never felt dangerous. The behavior and body language of the different passengers sitting shotgun were oftentimes striking to me, but I was never afraid. I sat in the backseat curious and confused, but not anxious.

As a parent now, I’m not sure I would give strangers a lift with my daughters in the backseat. But what my mom did has left a long-lasting imprint on me. I don’t want the scent of booze to be bleached out. I’d rather not erase it because it taught me something.

The way of Jesus is not just a mission trip or Sunday morning. His way can not be relegated to a to-do list or secret society for the wealthy, intelligent, or spiritual. A community service project downtown isn’t what will make me feel better about myself. But oftentimes I make following Jesus more complicated than it needs to be. I turn loving people into an agenda instead of a way of life. When I look at the ministry of Jesus, He loved those who were on His path. He was always walking towards the cross, but if I mapped out His journey it would look like He was directionally confused. But He wasn’t. He was moved by compassion by those who needed Him. He had mercy on the leper, the sick, the young, the hungry, the grieving, and the dead.

The way of Jesus is walking the way He leads you. The way of Jesus is becoming like Him. The way of Jesus requires seeing humans as humans. It is being with others.

But how do we — how do I — choose His way? It starts by acknowledging that I am always becoming something. My formation is always in process. My heart is always being shaped. Whether by mainstream media, society, science, community, or Scripture, I am always becoming formed. I am evolving and changing and growing. I am always going somewhere. The voices I listen to, the crowd I surround myself with, and the videos I watch are all a part of my formation. It may be in small ways or large ones, but formation is always occurring. Even in silence and stillness, my heart is being formed to trust in the goodness of God or to trust in other powers. I am always moving forward in either direction.

The question is — where am I going and who do I go with?

For me, the words “come beside her” have recently been rising and ringing inside of me. Come beside her. Don’t come down on others. Don’t preach over others. Don’t treat people like they are a project. Don’t flatline under the weight of holding others up, but come beside her.

There may be a day when I pick up a stranger off the street. But for now, I’m leaning into Christ’s invitation to come beside women. This looks like resting a hand on the back of the broken, offering a seat to the tired, encouraging women to take just one more step.

Where are you going today? Who are you going with? Pay attention to the path you are on and be awake to who God brings to you. Look at each other with eyes of compassion. True, deep, genuine, Jesus-loving compassion. We are being formed into the aroma of Christ. Sometimes that aroma smells like dirty diapers and cleaning detergent. Sometimes it smells like a garden with lilac bushes head high. And, sometimes, it smells like cigarettes and bourbon.

 

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Sorting Out Our Values and Tossing Comparison

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I have never posted anything as controversial on social media in my life.

“I don’t separate my clothes before doing laundry.”

You would have thought I just admitted to being okay with being a lifelong pickpocket.

I got a lot of comments like:

That could never work for me.
I tried it and it didn’t work.
I do it that way too and it’s great.
I’m glad it works for you. I like doing it my way.

Those were the innocuous comments. Other people were losing their minds. Here are some of the more critical comments I received:

No. That’s not okay.
I guess if you want to walk around in dingy clothes, that’s your prerogative.
Really? Does it take that much extra time to just do it right?
You’re wrong.
You must not care about ______ if you don’t do it right.

I’m not here to tell you how to do your laundry. (I’ve learned my lesson in that department.) But what I was surprised about was the strong reaction that many had to that post, bringing it down, essentially, to a morality issue.

Basically, if you are a good person, you will do your laundry correctly. (I know that sounds crazy, but that was the equation some people were making.) I realize that a lot of us have been taught that if you want to feel okay about how you are doing things, it always helps if you can find someone else who is doing it wrong.

I followed up that post by saying, “Hey friends, whether you choose to wash your clothes dangerously because saving time, saving money, saving energy (yours or the power company’s), or because that is the best thing for you right now, it all works. The detergent police are not going to bust down your laundry room door.”

For some people, it’s a radical thought that the way they’ve been taught to do something right, might not be “right” for everyone.

I have friends who take great joy in separating all their clothes, doing small loads of laundry, and then ironing like wrinkles are the unpardonable sin. I have other friends who send their laundry out to have it washed by someone in the neighborhood who is hired through an app. They get their laundry back in nice, neat little piles, ready to put away. And then there are the rest of us, doing the best we can, somewhere out here in the messy middle.

I am one of those people who can keep my whole house looking great, all at the same time, for about thirty-seven minutes (as long as nobody moves). And I think this is the category that most of us fall into.

We live in “working” houses. We cook, we eat, we play, we pray, we work, we study, we create, we rest, we love, and we live in our houses. My house is perfect as long as there is nothing going on in it.

Somehow, we’ve made the idea of a messy house, a pile of undone laundry, or heating up a frozen meal into a morality issue.

My radical thought? Some days, it’s miracle enough to get the laundry done imperfectly.

I used to spend a lot of time comparing my life — my house, my routines, my parenting, my marriage — to other women. It’s only gotten easier to do so in the age of social media, where every Instagrammer’s house appears perfect and none of their kids look like they fished a shirt out of the dirty laundry pile because it’s their “favorite.”

What I finally learned, after way too many years of comparison, is that it is 100% possible to be proud of yourself, get done what you need to get done, work, be married, and raise kids, all without comparing yourself to anyone else at all. So yes. I’m proudly giving myself the participation ribbon.

Galatians 6:4 (NIV) says, “Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else.”

My house is never going to be perfect, but my home is always going to welcome someone in. I value hospitality over perfection. In a world where we all struggle to make connections, I can’t have one more barrier to being with people. If my house had to be perfect, I would never have anyone over.

And here is the beautiful thing — most people feel comfortable with a little mess. I feel honored when someone lets me into their house with some unfolded laundry on the couch. That’s how I know I am welcome to the real parts of life.

Need extra encouragement when it comes to getting your daily list done? Join Kathi and her team over at their Facebook group Clutter Free Academy for not only instruction but daily, gentle encouragement.

 

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Get Your Hopes Up

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I’ve been in a fight for over a decade.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m fighting with Hope, wrestling in the desert through the dark of night, begging for a blessing. But this long-standing fight, this particular back and forth of daily cries and deep sighs and tears rolling down cheeks, is a fight for hope, a fight to hope, a fight of hope.

Even now, writing these words brings tears to my eyes. It’s true that hope heals but also? Hope hurts. It’s risky.

When you’ve hoped for something time after time, month after month, year after year, but then everything stays the same, it’s easy to become resigned. Numb. Disillusioned. Apathetic. “God is working in our waiting” sounds lovely until we’re actually waiting. Until things fall apart. Until the diagnosis, the phone call, the silence, the pain, the day after day of the same. It’s still true; it’s just harder to hold onto.

Twelve years ago, I had brain surgery. When they took out the tumor, the symptoms stopped and the insomnia began. It’s taken its toll in a thousand unseen ways, all of them worth it to still be here all these days, but there isn’t a word for the exhaustion that has become my normal. Sleep. All I want is to be able to sleep. To have the energy needed for each day, the bandwidth to show up for my people but not completely crash afterward, to experience rest in a body that tosses and turns until the sun rises and it’s time to throw the covers back and begin another day.

I read the story of the woman who bled for twelve years, who spent all she had and tried absolutely everything (Mark 5:24-34). I can feel it in my tired bones, the absolute desperation in her fingers, her mind, her heart, her broken body reaching for the fringe, one last grasp toward hope.

I hear it in the words of the two disciples as they left Jerusalem, disappointment and despair coloring their conversation as they walked toward the village of Emmaus. Luke 24:13-35 records the moment. I can hear their confusion as they discuss the news that arrived that morning, their heartbreak as they share the story with the stranger who joined them on the road.

“We had our hopes up that He was the One,” they say. “We had hoped…” drifts away with the breeze as they put one dusty foot in front of another, unaware that Hope is literally walking them home.

I think of this as I make another doctor’s appointment, as I pull into the parking lot and dare to show up, knowing that hope might crash down again. After all, it’s been twelve sets of 365 and the only thing that seems to have changed is that I sleep less than ever before.

If I’m honest, at this point it would be easier to give up the fight and avoid the heartbreak of disappointment. There would be relief in saying “it is what it is” and attempting to make the best of it, firmly shutting the door on the hopeful expectation that something will change. Twelve years of prayers, of tossing and turning in the dark and yawning throughout the day, tells me that choosing to hope again is not just risky — it’s foolish.

But I remember the man who wrestled with God through the night and walked away with a limp (Genesis 32:22-32). I remember the woman who desperately reached out and was named “daughter,” the disciples who didn’t recognize Hope Himself until He blessed and broke the bread as they sat down for a meal, and I see a God who doesn’t tease, a God who comes close and says hope won’t put us to shame (see Romans 5:1-5).

I don’t actually believe “it is what it is” . . . I believe it’s so much more, so much better. I believe the God of the entire universe became a baby in a womb and that what was once dead can rise and walk alongside two discouraged friends on a road to Emmaus. More than twelve years of history tells me the Author is good.

With everything in me, I believe God is healer. What I’ve come to see, though, is that healing doesn’t always look like what I’ve pictured. Sometimes the answer to our prayers is not a yes or a no but a Person. We get God, and in my desperate reaching, I’ve found Him to be enough.

Will this year bring healing? Will I fight for hope only to watch it crash down? I don’t know, but I’ll risk finding out, trusting that Hope will be the anchor and no matter the coming waves, I will not sink.

There’s a mystery and a miracle in the blessing and the breaking, and while I’d choose just the blessing myself, I know Him most intimately in my heartbreak. It’s only when the One who truly broke reaches out and breaks the bread that His disciples can truly see: Every hope that felt dashed was held in nail-scarred hands. Every prayer was heard. Every heartbreak was seen. Every tear was witnessed. They spoke in past tense, but Hope was present, always there, walking right beside. They were never alone.

Our waiting won’t be wasted. All that is broken will be mended. We will not be put to shame.

I’m getting my hopes up.

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

 

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The Lost Art of Play and Why the Church Needs More Fun

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I have fond memories of my church youth group from when I was a teenager. My mom would drop me off every Wednesday evening at church for two hours of games, laughter, and Bible study. To be honest, I looked forward to the games as much as the Bible study. We’d kick off our time together with ultimate frisbee or charades, dodgeball or a card game. No matter what we did, there were always two rules: 1) everyone had to participate, and 2) the game had to be fun. By the time we got around to reading and studying the Bible, our cheeks would be aching from laughing, and our hearts and minds were primed to go deeper.

The games we played at youth group were the gateway for developing deeper bonds of trust and respect with one another.

I look at adult Christians now, myself included, and often wonder: Why don’t we play together more often as a church? Where did all the laughter and the fun go?

Somewhere between growing up, having jobs, and starting families, church became far more serious. For many of us, the games and jovialty of life together became replaced with a mundane checklist of teaching, preaching, discipleship, and evangelism. Now, everything from Sunday mornings to mid-week small groups and outreach initiatives are all work and no fun.

I don’t want to sound reductive. I know that the life of a church is complex. But part of me wonders if one of the reasons why we have so much fighting and divisions in the church today is because we’ve lost our ability to play together.

Our God is a playful God, and in shaping us in His image, He created us to be playful too. In the book of Ecclesiastes, it states, “So I commend the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany them in their toil all the days of the life God has given them under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 8:15). God intended for us to take time to eat good food and drink together and just laugh until our bellies ache. God designed life to be full of joy. We were created to take intentional breaks from our work to be together, play, and have fun.

The Christian life, and by extension Church life, was always meant to be surprising, funny, and even, dare I say, at times silly. As Pastor Ondrej Szturc from Evangelical Christian Fellowship in the Czech Republic once said, “One of the signs of a healthy community is laughter and the ability to have fun together.”

Many of us feel burnt out these days. We’re tired and weary of each other and even the church at large at times.

What is the way forward?

Yes, we need the fellowship of Sunday morning services. Yes, we need to be taught and nourished by God’s Word through sermons and Bible studies. But what if the path forward for healing and deeper bonds also included a commitment to playing together more?

Perhaps you could invite a family from church over to play a board game. Maybe you could organize a weekly movie night or nature walk and offer an open invitation for folks to come as they can. You could also invite church families into your own personal celebrations. Birthday parties and cultural holidays are simple, easy ways to get to know folks better, while just kicking it over a delicious cold drink and some cake.

When we grow distant from one another, the remedy just might be food, games, and laughter. When a church is hurting (or when you personally are hurting), perhaps the best step forward is to cancel the regular program or meeting and just find someone to go out for coffee with. In the spirit of Ecclesiastes, we can pray for God to use that warm cup of coffee and perhaps a funny story (or maybe even a card game!) to be the medium to reconnect with a fellow brother or sister in the Lord.

Who knows if God might use that Saturday afternoon grill out to begin healing ethnic divides in your community. Who knows how God might use a game night to begin the work of reconciliation between two individuals or families who have grown apart. God can use a bowling match or a pool hang out or a cooking class to help fellow co-laborers in the gospel to also become friends. 

Play is essential for us as human beings and as fellow believers on mission to live life together. The more ways we can find to laugh together, the healthier and happier we will be as we seek to advance God’s kingdom together.

 

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