What If We’re Supposed to Be the Answer to Our Prayer?

What If We’re Supposed to Be the Answer to Our Prayer?

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The smell of coffee beans and cinnamon rolls wafted through the crowded terminal. Passengers congregated like impatient sardines near the gate, waiting for the airline employee to announce their boarding group. The flight was assigned seating, so I was happy to wait until the last minute to start breathing recycled air. I was thrilled to be heading to a writers’ retreat, but flying is not my favorite.

I was already starting to feel anticipatory nausea (it’s a thing), and the loud shrieking nearby wasn’t helping. I looked over and saw a mom and toddler in front of a vending machine. The little boy stomped his feet until his mom handed him a blue bag of Chips Ahoy.

Cookies at 8:00 a.m. aren’t going to help anyone! I thought.

Immediately, a pang of conviction trumped my snap judgment. Surely I have not been above doling out sugary snacks to my own kids to buy myself a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Lord, forgive me for being quick to judge. Please bless this mama with someone kind and loving to sit next to on the plane. Help her to see You in her day. Amen.

The traveling sardines eventually filed down the jet bridge. I followed to 17E. It was a full flight, so I was surprised to find my entire row empty. As I shoved my backpack under the seat, I had a glorious vision: three hours of uninterrupted rest and productivity. With extra space, I’d be able to concentrate on finalizing my speaking notes for the retreat and then catch a little snooze. I’d land ready and refreshed for all God had planned! I adjusted the air vent and closed the shutter. Deep breath. This might actually be a great flight.

Then there they were. The little boy with cookie crumbs on his chin, crawling into the seat next to me. The mom settled in and took off her son’s shoes. He wiggled and shrieked and wedged himself on the floor between the seats.

“I just want to apologize in advance,” she said softly.

And I knew. I knew God was answering my prayer. Be the blessing.

I took a deep breath.

“Don’t even worry about it,” I said. “I have three boys. I know contained spaces can be tough.” She smiled weakly.

The next three hours were punctuated by screaming and squirming. When Jack’s mom tried to get the toddler to rest in her lap, his feet kicked against my thigh. When the cartoon on her phone ended, when she offered the wrong snack, when he dropped his toy car for the fourteenth time, Jack wailed. His mom stayed calm.

“You’re okay,” she said.

“You’re okay,” he repeated.

Somewhere between the complimentary pretzels and the woman in front of us glaring back again, I struck up a conversation. Typical questions: How old is your son? Do you have other kids? Are you headed home or going on a trip? Jack just turned three and had two older step-siblings. They were on their way home.

“It’s not easy flying with a little one,” I said. “You’re doing a really great job.”

“Thanks. This is way better than last time.” I saw a wince of remembrance flash over her face. “Jack got diagnosed with autism a couple of months ago. He’s not very verbal and gets easily frustrated. But he started therapy, and it’s really helping.”

I had hoped this flight would be a quiet space for me to work and rest. That didn’t happen. I didn’t get to prepare for my meetings or take a nap. But I did catch a glimpse of Jesus.

The engines hummed louder as we made our final descent. Jack nuzzled closer to his mama. With a stranger’s tiny toes pressed against me, all I could think was: What if we’re supposed to be the answer to our prayer? What if we changed the way we prayed?

Instead of “Lord, bless them,” “Lord, prepare me to be a blessing.”
Instead of “Lord, show them kindness,” “Lord, empower me to be kind.”
Instead of “Lord, provide,” “Lord, give me eyes to see and a willingness to give.”

I deboarded the plane and was grateful to stretch my legs. Just beyond the gate I passed a vending machine with a row of bright blue-packaged cookies. I looked back over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of Jack. I mulled over the truth like a student rehearsing exam facts she doesn’t want to forget: Appearances never tell the whole story. Appearances never tell the whole story. Be the blessing. Be the blessing.

Three years later and I’m still rehashing this story in my mind.

Be the answer to my prayer for kindness. Be the one who sees a stranger through God’s eyes of love and compassion instead of my own judgment and inconvenience. It was only Jesus in me that prompted me to get off the high horse of my own annoyance in the airport terminal and even think to pause in prayer for this struggling mama-son pair. I’m so grateful the Lord gave His Spirit to whisper to mine.

But it’s not enough just to hear. Our faith grows legs for change when we turn that hearing into doing.

The small shift from self-focused to others-focused, from perception to action, is the beginning of the simple difference.

—

Becky Keife’s new book, The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact, will help you see more of the people in front of you, more of God’s lavish love for you, and more of His power within you.

The Simple Difference is now available wherever books are sold. We’re so excited for this book to be in your hands!

Want to start reading now? Get a FREE sample chapter!

You Have Permission to Change Your Mind

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My hands hovered over my laptop keyboard, trembling. I could blame it on the fact that it was past eleven in the morning and I’d only had coffee, but it was more likely due to the fear bubbling inside of me over what I was writing: my resignation letter.

I was quitting my job in journalism and moving onto something else. I just had no idea what that “something else” was going to be. 

My stomach flip-flopped with anxiety — not because I felt like it was the wrong decision, but because the great unknown always makes me feel a little sick. 

I’d been praying about resigning for at least six months. Or maybe a year. Or maybe a year and a half. I’d been praying about this decision for so long, I couldn’t remember when I first started. I was so terrified to make the wrong decision — terrified that if I quit my career, I would never find another. I was scared people would think I was making a mistake. I was scared God would stop providing for me.

I talked to a spiritual director about it. I journaled about it. I sought counsel from wise friends about it. I wanted God to give me a sign in the sky, spelled out with cumulus clouds, saying, “Here’s exactly what I think you should do.” 

The sign never came. Instead, God gave me a brain, good friends, prayer, the Holy Spirit, and a few sessions with a spiritual director. 

I took a deep breath before I sent the email, then clicked send, and listened as my computer made the whooshing sound it makes when an email goes off. Suddenly the career I had worked so hard for was about to change.

To my surprise, the world around me didn’t suddenly crash and burn when I sent off that email. In fact, the world remained quite intact. I remained sitting on my apartment balcony, as the birds kept chirping and the breeze kept blowing. I’d made a massive life change, and nothing fell apart. I felt a little nervous, but I also felt peace settle around me like a warm, freshly washed blanket.

We can change our minds, and God will remain the same. In Scripture, God is often compared to a rock or a fortress — a stunning mental image of steadiness, surety, and constancy. 

Psalm 71:3 says, “Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.”

Or Psalm 94:22, “But the Lord has become my stronghold, and my God the rock of my refuge.”

Or again in Psalm 62:2, “He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall never be shaken.”

Over and over, Scripture reminds us of God’s steadfastness. And in case you’re not into rock or fortress metaphors, here’s the same message even more clearly in the book of Hebrews: “Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever” (Hebrews13:8). 

We have permission to make changes in our lives because we serve a God who never changes. He will always remain faithful. You can change your job, your house, your hairstyle, or your opinion. For some of us, change is a welcome relief. For others, it’s terrifying. But like an unyielding rock in the middle of a storm, God is there through it all. 

When things are changing around us — whether because we chose them or because our circumstances determined those changes for us — we can lean on the Rock who is higher, steadier, and stronger than us. Our hope, reassurance, and strength to keep going is the unchanging promise that Jesus Christ will never change. He will always be the One we can cling to, trust in, and rely on.

Maybe today, you’re at a place where you know something needs to change. You feel it deep in your bones and sense God inviting you into it. But it’s hard to take that first step. I’d love to be a friend to you today and offer permission to take that first step forward. It’s okay to make a change. Permission to make a small change — or a big one — is yours. 

My final day at my job was last week. Even though resigning felt akin to leaping off a cliff, the spot I found myself landing was the Rock who is steady beside me. He had never left me alone.

When everything is changing, God never will.

How Change Helps You See What’s Right in Front of You

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There is a town on the shore of the Hudson River, just outside of the city that never sleeps, about fifteen miles north of New York City. During the day, it glistens with views of waves and water, and at night you can watch the nearby city lights twinkle like fireflies. And the trees — wouldn’t you believe it? — New York has as many trees as skyscrapers.

It is the town I grew up in, the town I went to college in, even the town my grandfather was killed in.

My dream was to get away from this town, this county, this city, and go somewhere far away — somewhere like the college in Oklahoma that covered the pamphlets I kept sprawled across my teenage bedroom floor.

In my last year of high school, I sat in the office of my guidance counselor, all nervous and fidgety. I can still see her face framed by her long curly hair and those gentle, brown eyes. I told her I wanted to go away for college so I could get away, so I could see someplace new and become someone different.

“That sounds great,” she said. “But did you know that there’s a college nearby that sounds like it has just what you’re looking for?”

“No,” I told her. No, I didn’t know, and no, I didn’t want to go.

I told her I was happy with my plan and where I wanted to be, but out of respect for her guidance I told her I’d visit the college the next time they had orientation.

And wouldn’t you believe it, that first moment I stepped onto campus, I suddenly felt every dream I had about Oklahoma fade away, disappearing into thin air like it never belonged there in the first place. It was then that I chose that college; it was there, overlooking the same river I’d seen again and again that I realized I had fallen in love with my town for all new reasons.

Even though it never changed, even though everything about it was the same, it was like seeing it all for the very first time. It turned out, the change was in me, opening my heart to see a beauty that was always there, but that I’d never before seen.

The truth is that welcoming any change — changes in mind, heart, place, life — is like that, too. Change helps us see the beauty that has always been there but that we’d never before seen. We go on our hands and knees in search of ideals, perfection, and novelty, when what we really need to do is to look around and see that we have all that we need.

So, today, on this first day of the month that mentally cues our hearts to welcome new rhythms in work and school, a month that cues our souls to seek out squashes and pumpkins and seasonal shopping, may you center your heart to welcome change, not simply by the shifting seasons, but by the speaking Spirit. More than looking to the falling leaves and cooler weather, more than consistency coming back, more than the prospect of holidays, look to the growing softness of your own heart. Look to those things that are falling away, those things that are good and ready to be done with. Look to the places in your life where God is already at work. Look to your home, to your desk, to your nightstand, to your floors, to your feelings.

And whether the voice of the Spirit comes sweeping in slowly or suddenly, it is surely He that is speaking.

You do not need a new town, a new day, or a new season to usher in the kind of change that stills your soul to see you are already rich in all that you need and all that you need to be. There’s no need to chase or escape something or someplace to be made new. It is God who does this breathtaking work within us.

As you look forward to the changes that fall will bring, what is one thing that you can appreciate or acknowledge is good about right where you are?

Watching for God (and Finding Him) Even in Financial Insecurity

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I watch. I wait. I wonder. Some call it courage. Some call it foolish. I call it faith.

Over a decade ago, I wrote an article called, “Join Me on Our God Watch.” I invited blogging friends to join our family as we entered another “God Watch” period in our lives — my husband’s unemployment. Years ago, I coined that phrase for our children as a game of sorts. During our first extended season of financial insecurity, it was an intentional way of watching and waiting to see how the Lord would unexpectedly amaze us during a particularly difficult circumstance. Every day around the dinner table, we’d ask the kids how they witnessed God working in their life or in someone else’s.

All these years later, it’s still a family mantra. Our God Watch is a reminder to gaze at His goodness, to rest in His reassurances. But more importantly, it’s a whisper of willingness to choose joy in the midst of doubt — to live it and seek out His goodness when we feel it the least.

I chuckle as I re-read that post. Heartfelt was the God Watch invitation, but at the end I retorted, “Remind me of this in six months if we’re still unemployed, deal?” I never assumed I would need to revisit that tongue-in-cheek comment as we wrestled through an additional year of unemployment — another year of wondering how we’d pay our bills and hustling odd jobs to make ends meet. A year of attempting to model for our five children that while being in the throes of uncertainty, we stand as a steadfast gospel witness to all His things beautiful, good, and true. Throughout that season, we let them ask hard questions. We welcomed and walked with them through their doubts. When people looked at our faith and called us foolish, we believed wholeheartedly that He meant all things for our good even when we didn’t feel its evidence immediately.

This week I’ve gone down memory lane and read my “God Watch” journals to reinvigorate my spirit by His notable marks of remembrance in my life. I thought I needed that reminder in 2020, but 2021 has brought with it a whole host of new tensions.

Many of us have lost so much. We’ve lost jobs, loved ones, homes, savings. Some lost things less tangible but that have left us lonely and disillusioned. Maybe it’s the loss of goals and dreams, loss of community, friendships, or even church homes due to division. Amidst my personal wrestling, the Lord is allowing me to be a safe space for others to share these losses, but my typical Pollyanna personality is struggling. Do any of you feel like you’ve lost some of your optimism and fun? No? Just me?

That’s why I stopped in my tracks from a specific journal entry. Don’t you love how He often uses our past experiences to preach to our own heart when we need it most?

I wrote:

Satan would love nothing more than to take me down the winding road of regret and woo me into a long, whiny discussion. The kind of back-and-forth conversation that takes place in my mind — ideas primed as dagger-like darts, feelings that mull around in misery, yet with no audible words ever leaving the mouth. Oh yes, those have been some of my more lively discussions.

But, today, His faithfulness reminds me that I have the choice to punctuate my life with praise.

Praise for His security during times of uncertainty. Praise for the little things since they are reminders of the big things. Like the way the stars twinkle so much brighter snuggling on a blanket with my husband and children. Or the way my teen age son guzzles the soda straight from the two-liter as I type. No sky-rocketing mommy annoyance now. I am so thankful he’s journeying with us, choosing to be “an untypical teen” during this learning transition. (FYI: Now that teen is married, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to see them chase after Jesus together, but I wish he was in our kitchen this second guzzling from the bottle. I miss it.)

How about when my favorite grocery store tripled their coupons the very week I needed to stockpile my favorite items or the “trash to treasure” finds that I uncovered at last weekend’s yard sale?

Ah yes . . . finding joy in things I had entirely missed before deepens my faith walk. It’s a reminder of how this extended “God Watch” season can grow us deeper, make us more intentional, and reveal to us the little blessings that are so often overlooked.

So here’s to finishing a year of no steady job, but I’m still testifying that He is good.

August 2021 Serious Jen needs that reminder from 2008 Jen.

As our summer starts winding down and uncertainty begins ramping up, let me testify again that no matter the circumstance, “He is the same yesterday, today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). He is a God of faithfulness who fights for us, forever desiring our best, and a God who wants us to find Him in every season and every part of our lives.

What are you finding on your own God Watch journey?

When Our Words Hurt Instead of Heal

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I was the friend who said the wrong thing. It was a text on a random weekday, a back and forth conversation about a sensitive subject. My words weren’t ugly; I repeated a familiar Scripture meant to encourage. But, as texts are prone to do, it lacked the nuance and compassion I intended to convey, and I hurt her deeply.

Like a broken thread on the hem of a dress, our friendship began to unravel. I apologized profusely and tried to fix my words with more words. My fumbling delivery was fearful and hesitant as I delicately tried to avoid making things worse. Her hurting heart became distant, and our friendship grew cold and unfamiliar. I exhausted every prayer, every apology, every word, but I couldn’t fix it.

I was heartbroken that I had hurt her and horrified that had I turned into that girl — the one who’s tone deaf to other’s sufferings, the one who’s too selfish to see the other side of an experience, the one that slaps on a Scripture when someone really needs a hand to hold.

I’m sensitive and thoughtful. I use my words to encourage. I shake my head in disapproval when I hear testimonies of thoughtless statements spoken in delicate situations and wonder, How could people be so cruel? I’ve journeyed through infertility, a season of grief notably scarred by the deep sting of well-meaning words.

I thought I knew exactly what to say, until I didn’t.

The loss of our friendship led to a season of intense self-doubt. I avoided texts and obsessed over my responses. I doubted my ability to encourage other friends and refrained from interjecting into difficult conversations. I experienced crippling guilt. I anxiously replayed our last few conversations in my head, trying to figure out what I should have done differently. I felt the need to apologize for every fragile word I spoke. My insecurity threatened to silence me.

My poorly picked words reminded me of Peter in Matthew 16:22. Just verses before, Peter experienced a moment of honor as he confessed that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God. Peter spoke from his heart and said all the right things. Jesus responded with a prophetic blessing over him. But in verse 22, after Jesus foretold His own death, Peter misread the situation.

And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.”
Matthew 16:22 (ESV)

Though he was well-meaning, Peter got it wrong. This time, Jesus’ response wasn’t a prophetic blessing but a stern correction.

But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”
Matthew 16:23 (ESV)

Matthew moves on from there, and we don’t see Peter’s reaction. But I imagine it might have been a little like my own: shocked that he could so easily become the disciple that said the wrong thing, shrinking in self-doubt after Jesus called him a “hindrance,” lost in a spiral of guilt at the realization that his perspective was all wrong. It was enough to make Peter never want to speak up again.

But without his voice sharing the gospel, recounting his experiences with Jesus, and leading the early church, where would we be today?

Peter’s story shows us that Jesus doesn’t reject us because of our misspoken words. Just a few verses later Matthew describes the Transfiguration, when Jesus handpicked Peter, James, and John to experience a taste of heaven alongside Him. Jesus didn’t hold a grudge or pull away from Peter. He doesn’t reject us either.

But He does correct us. Calling out Peter’s words showed Jesus’ love and concern for Peter to understand the situation, gain the right perspective, and align his thoughts with God. When God corrects our hurtful words, He wants to help us, not silence us.

This isn’t the only instance in the Bible when Peter got it wrong. My text won’t be the only time I unintentionally hurt a friend. Maybe you know what it feels like to say the wrong thing, too. We can struggle to navigate the powerful responsibility of our words, and while we won’t always get it right, God is willing to correct and redeem every misstep. Like with Peter, He keeps giving us second chances. Our responsibility is to have a humble and repentant heart, willing to receive correction and ready to learn from our mistakes.

Although I haven’t found reconciliation with the friend I hurt that day, I am so thankful Jesus has corrected me, redeemed my guilt, and reminded me that, by His grace, He can still use my words for His glory.

Be Intentional With Your Influence

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Welcome to Bible Study Monday! We are going through our Courageous Influence Bible Study right here with you. Each week we provide the reading assignment, a really great discussion video featuring three (in)courage writers, a quote of the week, reflection questions, and a prayer. All you need is your copy of Courageous Influence and an open heart, and we’ll take care of the rest!

So far we’ve looked at:

  • Week 1, which began with this foundational statement: You are a woman of influence,
  • Week 2, which revealed that influence is about where God has placed you and your willingness to say yes to Him,
  • Week 3, which explored what it means to be a person of integrity in using our influence,
  • Week 4, which taught us to be generous with our influence,

And now we turn to Week 5, which shows us how to be intentional with our influence.

Reading Assignment

This week, read Week Five: Be Intentional With Your Influence, on pages 145-176 in the Courageous Influence Bible Study. Grab your copy and start reading!

Quote of the Week

Keep this quote in mind as you read Week Five:

We can be intentional with our influence by creating space for it at the table.

– Grace P. Cho in Courageous Influence. Feel free to download this quote to share with a friend!

Discussion Video

Three of our (in)courage writers invite us into their conversations about Courageous Influence! Join study author Grace P. Cho along with Becky Keife and Kathi Lipp as they discuss each week of the Bible study. Listen in on their conversation about Week Five (and find all the weekly videos here):

Reflection Questions

Together in the comments, answer and discuss the following reflection questions:

  • How do you guys make sure to stay connected to the Vine (Jesus)? What practices or rhythms do you have that help you do this?
  • Have you ever been discipled or have you discipled someone else? If so, what was that experience like?

Let’s Pray Together

God, thank You for being a Gardener who so lovingly tends to Your children. You prune and guide my growth without fail, and I can trust You to care for me. As You have been intentional with me, help me to be intentional with others, and may my life bear fruit that will last. Amen.

Get a FREE week from each of our Courageous Bible Studies (including Courageous Influence) and free leader resources!

Remember, answer the reflection questions in the comments so we can discuss Week Five together! We’ll see you back here next Monday — our LAST in this Bible Study series! — to begin Week Six: Tell Your Story.

The Hard and Beautiful Work of Waiting

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We weren’t prepared. None of us.

No one expected winter at the beginning of October, at least not six to eight inches of snow. Two days before the temperature had hit close to eighty degrees. The trees were busy with their fall celebration, painting the world with oranges and yellows and reds. Although we all knew winter was coming, nature felt extraordinarily alive — a final flourish to a glorious summer.

Then, on October 9th, the temperature dropped more than forty degrees. And a light Monday rain turned into a thick and heavy snow. For hours, nature blanketed Colorado in white, refusing to relent. Layer after layer of heavy, wet snow piled up on streets and grass, driveways and trees. Still covered in orange, yellow, and red leaves, tree branches bowed, like a mother caught by unexpected mourning, unable to lift her head.

When I woke that morning to a world of white, my first thought was for our trees. I love a good snow, and I typically create quite a celebration of it. But this time I knew the trees weren’t prepared for it. They didn’t have enough time to shed their summer. As a child isn’t yet ready to bear the weight of adulthood, they couldn’t carry the responsibility of snow. Instead, with leaves holding each flake, the branches bowed with the strain. I feared they would break.

And that’s precisely what happened. While my husband and children finished their breakfast, a loud crash shook them from their cereal. With a glance out the back windows, they saw the cause of the crash:

One of the largest branches of our favorite purple ash tree had finally succumbed to the weight of the snow.

It lay sprawled across our blue spruce and back yard, yellow and red leaves littering the white floor, severed from its source of life.

Within a day or two, the snow melted and the temperatures turned summer-like. Trees once again flaunted their colors, although with far fewer leaves and flair than before. Daily, I went into our backyard to mourn our favorite tree. I couldn’t help myself. It no longer provided a complete canopy of shade as it did the week before. Lacking its prior symmetry, it appeared deformed, misshapen. Worse, I feared disease where the broken branch had left the tree exposed. Time would reveal whether or not it would survive.

I’ve thought a lot about that tree over the past month. It’s not as if it didn’t know what to do with snow. It’s endured dozens of winters and countless snowstorms.

The problem wasn’t the storm or the temperature — it was the timing.

I’ve never been much good at waiting. When I want something, I want it sooner than later. That book I want to write or project I want to complete? I want it to be finished now and flawless the first time. My skills as a leader and mentor? I expect them to be developed and exceptional immediately, without struggle and growth and time. I want my children to be mature and responsible and full of faith today and my marriage to be exactly what God designed it to be right now.

In short, I want to skip over the uncomfortable process and get to the satisfying results.

But I too easily forget: The struggle now is part of the glory later.

To shortcut the first is to diminish the second. And to skip over the waiting means to risk crashing. Sometimes that “one thing” we’re desperate for would be better served by a longer fall, a season of time that would allow space and maturity and growth. Many times we must shed some leaves today before we’ll have the strength to bear the weight of tomorrow. Thus the need for seasons and the need for savoring each one before rushing off to the next.

But I trust in you, LORD;
I say, ‘You are my God.’
My times are in your hands . . . 
Psalm 31:14-15a (NIV)

No, I don’t like waiting much. I want to rush ahead to the happy ending, where the scenery is spectacular and the celebration happens. Each day while I wait, I’m tempted to fast-forward the process, strong-arm results, manipulate and control and make something happen.

But an unfolding is often more beautiful than a forcing. Hard, yes, but worthy.

Whatever it is you’re waiting for, perhaps waiting isn’t as unproductive as it seems. At times, what happens during the fall is precisely what needs to happen to get us through the winter and to the spring.

Trust Him, friend. Trust He knows the desire of your heart and what needs to happen for the best of you and those you love.

He’s a master of the process. Don’t run and rush. Don’t attempt to bypass one season to move more quickly to the next.

Instead, walk it out. Savor the oranges and yellows and reds. Enjoy the slow fall of leaves and the sweet savoring of what is yet to come, what you can’t yet imagine.

Allow the struggle to be your teacher.

Trust the pain to be a grace.

Embrace the wait, slow as it may be, and trust that the One who paints the leaves and sends the snow knows precisely how to turn your waiting into a rewarding spring.

Should It Stay or Should It Go?

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Last December, when our family prepared to move from a home with a large, unfinished basement to a home with no basement at all, we knew we had a lot of purging to do. Our older children left boxes behind when they moved out on their own, and we’d accumulated in a way that reflected our seemingly unlimited storage capacity, which in the end felt more like a curse than a blessing.

We donated over 300 boxes, including lots of hand-me-down clothing we no longer needed. We rented a dumpster and filled it to overflowing with things that held no real value; it was more than our weekly garbage service could handle. We loaded a U-Haul with desks, furniture, and exercise equipment we had quit using and dropped them off at a local charity, hoping they’d find new homes.

Sometimes it felt like I wasn’t just purging my house; I was purging my soul. All that stuff had become an emotional burden.

In a perfect world (my children say I use this phrase a lot), we would have disposed of everything we no longer needed before the move. It was certainly the goal. But painting bathrooms and baseboards, calling in contractors, attending home inspections, and scrambling to find another house when we terminated the first contract we signed took too much time.

I wanted a fresh start in our new home, a chance to break habits that created more chaos than comfort and to discover if less really was more.

In January, I reflected on my relationship with stuff here at (in)courage and how I was starting to use sentimental objects as they were intended instead of treating them like sacred objects. By February, I saw that clutter could hijack my goals and steal my inner peace. Lately, I’ve been working my way through the final and most difficult items left to sort.

One of our new (in)courage contributors, Kathi Lipp, is an expert on decluttering. Recently when I couldn’t decide what to do with a sentimental object, she asked me, “Will you ever go looking for it?” It’s a powerful question that continues to help me filter what should stay and what should go. She said that everything I get rid of makes space for growth in my life and teaches me to trust that God will bring what I need in the moment. It’s both wise and biblically sound advice.

Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are?
Matthew 6:26 (NLT)

I’m learning to put quality over quantity. When we had too many children’s books, they stayed in a box (our youngest child is sixteen). We’ve weeded down to a few favorites and put them out on a shelf. Now our grandchildren have discovered family favorites like Good Night, Little Bear and Madeline.

While trying to decide where to put cases of old music CDs, my children pointed out that we don’t even own a CD player anymore and that I can stream music now with apps on my phone, computer, or TV. I looked through them, rediscovered some old favorites, put them on my current playlists, and then gave the discs to charity.

My sister and I sorted through a box of figurines our mother had collected. We each kept two or three favorites and put the rest in the donation box, smiling because we knew they’d make someone very happy. A couple of tiny treasures that had spent years in a box in my basement now sit on a shelf in my home.

By keeping less, we experience more.

Do you, too, find yourself bogged down by possessions that no longer bring you pleasure? Let’s look for ways to enjoy what we treasure and bless others with what we no longer need, trusting that God will provide for us.

One of Dawn’s treasures that brings her pleasure is her essential oil collection. Her new book My Essential Oil Companion can help you discard your assorted oil notes and recipes and organize them in one place.

If I Didn’t Take a Break, I Would Break Eventually

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I stared at the words I’d read and reread for the last few hours, but my brain refused to comprehend what it needed to do. Forcing myself to sit at my desk hadn’t helped move the work along, but my stubbornness kept me seated. I watched the cursor blink in the same spot, telling me I was wasting my time, but how was I supposed to tap into my creative side or generate work when I felt completely poured out, empty?

Through the window, I heard the kids call for me to watch them do cartwheels on the front lawn for the tenth time in the last half hour. I wanted to relish the last days of summer with them, but I was being pulled by the stern demands of deadlines. I shouted, “I’ll be there in a second!” But that second stretched into long minutes that still kept me in my seat.

I clicked through the many other tabs open on my computer to find something that would require minimal thinking, but every task and project were at the point where they needed my focused attention. I closed my eyes, closed the laptop, took some deep breaths, and surrendered.

I leaned back in my chair, resigned and frustrated at my inability to push through, but in that quiet moment by myself, I sensed a different pull in my heart — an urgent invitation to rest. It didn’t demand from me as the deadlines did, but it did warn me that if I didn’t take a break, I would break eventually.

I reflected back on the last year and half and noticed how much I had needed to care for everyone around me. Rest had seemed like a luxury I couldn’t afford to have for myself, and I’d started to believe that the mark of a generous, loving person was to give until I had nothing left. It was the unhealthy belief that I had grown up with — that being like Jesus meant martyring ourselves at the altar of service to others, that our holiness wasn’t founded on Christ’s righteousness but on the scars we bore, on how far our arms had been stretched out for the sake of others.

But we are not robots created for incessant work, nor are we the saviors of the world. Rest is essential.

Rest is resistance to a do-it-all culture that tells us to prove our worth. When our value is measured by what we can offer, our humanity is hollowed up and thrown away. It’s no wonder we can so self-righteously determine a person’s destiny by their usefulness, instead of seeing them as beloved, cherished human beings just as they are — just as we are.

So we must rest to resist. We must rest so we can keep going. We must rest because we have limits and because we can trust God with all that needs to get done.

Adrenalin had concealed the full weight of what I had been carrying, and as I sat exhausted at my desk, I could feel it all. My body and mind and soul were weary. I was spent. I had come to the end of my strength to carry on.

The lie that I was only as valuable as what I produced enticed me to open my laptop again and keep pushing through, but I decided to heed the warning to rest. I walked away from my desk, stepped outside into the embrace of the sun, and watched with delight as the kids showed off their cartwheel moves. I marveled at how much they’d grown and matured in the time we had been at home and away from our school and church communities. It was a long, hard year, and there was so much we’d never get back. But this was a moment to relish — the fun, the giggles, and the joy of accomplishing a perfect cartwheel.

I sat on the front step and felt my body exhale. There would be time to finish everything I had to get done, but for now, all I needed was to rest.

How We Should Stay Put and Listen Like Sheep

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Today I told my counselor that when I feel overwhelmed I put on my noise-cancelling headphones, and they instantly slow me down. Not as much background noise. Not as many distractions.

We live in this strange world where you can watch a cooking show clip followed by a wedding slideshow followed by a political video followed by some panda bears rolling down a hill in a matter of seconds. We scroll, and we let that blue light fill our eyes, and the message that fills our minds is that faster and newer and more complicated is the way to go. But a few years ago, I decided to move to a slow part of the country to see if I could get some of that quiet I’d been craving.

Around these parts, there’s a whole lot of history. My house is fairly new as it was built in 1900 and only leans a little to the west. Every morning, I have to push my bed up against the wall because my movements just getting in and out of bed manages to slide it down toward the center of the room. When new people move to this area, I want to show them around so they can get oriented: “This here is the oldest bridge in the country! This here is the oldest seaport in the country! And then we turn down a long gravel road that leads to a barn at the heart of the oldest farm in America.”

The farm stands in the town of Ipswich, and when I step out of my car, it feels like coming home. Perhaps this is because it’s been consistently farmed for centuries. The idea that ground has been tilled and planted and harvested since the 1630s is hard to comprehend, but if this place is still here, perhaps the world isn’t as noisy and chaotic as I’d thought. There are places where things stay put.

One afternoon on a walk around the farmland, my friend Ana and I came across a field of sheep. There they stood with blank looks on their faces, seemingly unimpressed by our presence. They weren’t in a contained space, really, just standing on the trail. We walked right up to them and they simply stared at us. We tried to call them closer, and they didn’t budge. When we moved in closer, they backed away. Giving up on bonding with the sheep any further, we headed home when suddenly we heard something over the hill.

It was the shepherd. At least, that’s what I figured out really quickly because he shouted out, “Hey! Sheep!” from roughly 200 yards away.

Immediately, even desperately, they stiffened their necks and turned their heads toward his direction. They didn’t just look; they started to move. They began walking and eventually running toward a nearby gate — every single one of them. We stood there transfixed as they hustled their little wooly bodies toward the voice of the shepherd.

I’d read that passage of Scripture so many times that it automatically ran through my mind: “ . . . the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers” (John 10:4-5 ESV).

You can’t hear His voice when you’re making a whole bunch of noise. When you’ve listened to too many voices, including your own, that aren’t the right ones — even if they are good ones — you’re going to miss Jesus’ call. 

Some days, it feels like God’s too far away for me to hear Him, but when I open Scripture, I remember the low and strong voice I heard that day over the hills. I remember how the sheep didn’t move toward me, but they ran toward him. And I can breathe a little easier when I take the time to listen by living a life rooted in God’s Word.

We can’t know the tone of His call if we’re not used to hearing it over and over again. So when the world feels loud and things are moving too quickly, slow down, friend. Open the Word and listen to His voice until you can hear it clearly, even from 200 yards away.

The Sweetness of God in the Middle of the Dillard’s Shoe Department

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My first child got married a few weeks ago, a celebration bubbling with joy and beauty and illuminated by the presence of God. On a day when so much can go wrong, everything went right. As Thomas and Gina exchanged their vows, I was wrecked in the best of ways, encouraged by their exquisite expressions of love. I felt a mother-kinship with Mary as I treasured all the things (Luke 2:19). And, try as I might, there was no damming up my Niagara of happy tears.

I’ve been introspective ever since. The weeks leading up to their wedding were a flurry of travel, obligations, and to-do’s. I barely had time to consider how God was revealing Himself to me, yet He was and powerfully so. One of my favorite stories happened when God showed up in a sweet but unexpected way. First, a backstory.

Ages ago, I remember judging a girl in our couple’s Bible study group. Her wedding day was fast approaching, but her bridesmaids’ shoes hadn’t yet arrived. When our class leader asked for prayer requests, Shannon shot up her hand and asked us to pray for the shoes to get there on time.

Sitting around that circle were members struggling with health, job insecurity, marriage, and infertility — in my estimation, legitimate reasons to pray — and, here, Shannon was worried about matching bridesmaids’ shoes.

I scoffed at her absurd request and chalked it up to evidence of her spiritual immaturity. Meanwhile, I swelled with spiritual superiority. Sigh . . . thankfully times (and hearts) have changed.

I hadn’t thought about this in decades, until my son’s wedding day was fast approaching. I found myself frantically searching for a dress. Though I had purchased one to wear six months earlier, it wasn’t going to work after all. The ten to fifteen pounds I was sure I could lose clung on for dear life. (Two pounds a month had seemed so reasonable back in October . . .) The best seamstress in the world couldn’t conjure the magic my dress (or rear end) needed. Spanx might well work wonders, but only Jesus can work miracles.

After an exhaustive and sometimes panic-riddled search as the date loomed, I finally found a dress, only to discover my go-to sparkly shoes now had my feet screaming for mercy while my seamstress pinned my dress for alterations. I didn’t want to go shopping for shoes, but unless I wanted to be hobbling at my son’s wedding, I needed to.

Apparently, COVID impacted inventory. Repeatedly, salespeople told me their dress and shoe volume were a fraction of what it was pre-pandemic. “We didn’t think anyone would want party shoes,” explained the DSW worker pointing me toward the sad, little selection of 4” stilettos. Those, on me, would’ve been a recipe for disaster.

I found myself out of time the Saturday before Thomas’s wedding. On Monday, my seamstress needed to know the height of my shoes in order to hem my dress. It wasn’t that I was being overly picky, but my dress demanded a particular color, safety demanded stability, my feet demanded comfort, and vanity demanded style. (Piece of cake, right?)  

By the time I got to Dillard’s, the shoe department was teeming with women. Sales associates were a haggard blur. A quick scan of their shelves told me I was in the right place, at least. They had an extensive selection, and I prayed they’d have something in my size.

Instantly, I remembered Shannon’s request thirty years ago, and, humbled, I understood the desperation that leads to such prayers. The irony of my circumstances — praying for wedding shoes — was not wasted.

Almost immediately, I met Michelle, a lady more desperate than me, looking for shoes for an event that night. We shared pictures of our dresses and offered suggestions of what to try next. I noticed another lady seated among a pile of shoes, and her style suggested a kindred spirit. When she looked up smiling sympathetically, I asked her if she would be my friend for the day and tell me what she really thought about the pair I had on. Heather took one look at the picture on my phone and said, “Gorgeous shoes, but they won’t look good with your dress.”

“But, I like ‘em, and they feeeeeeel good!” I whined. She held her ground (what a real friend would do) and told me to keep looking.

Other ladies asked to see my dress picture, and suddenly I had a whole team of stylists offering their opinions, picking up shoes from displays I hadn’t yet seen. Judy, Angela, Rain (that name!) needed shoes for themselves, and yet they were helping me! We were a band of strangers turned friends.

Ours was a simple solidarity born of helping one another, and it struck me: isn’t this the way of Christ? To serve rather than be served? When I finally found The Ones, everyone cheered. The salespeople smiled. My feet whispered, “Hallelujah!”

With new shoes in hand, I left Dillard’s with a buoyant heart. It’s impossible not to be affected by God’s presence. We expect it at church or during a wedding ceremony but not so much in a department store. And yet, right there in the middle of a last-minute shopping frenzy, I discovered the sweetness of God.

My immediate need had been met when I found the perfect pair of shoes – a generous answer to a surface-level prayer – but an even greater need was satisfied too: I had experienced God through the lovingkindness of others.

Philippians 2:4 sprang to life in the actions of my fellow shoe shoppers: “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” It would probably surprise them to know how moved I was by their collective help, but even small gestures of kindness reflect the glory of God. People have needs. People are hurting. Being kind and loving to the strangers around us might just give them the glimpse of God they’re desperate to see. 

When 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 mom’s 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.

This 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 is where you can find your story reflected — from struggling with weight, anxiety, and depression to suffering through miscarriage and 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 depth of their hearts and experience so that you will know beyond a doubt that you are not alone and that you are — and always have been — loved.

Get 5 devotions from Take Heart for FREE — just sign up below and we’ll send 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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Be Generous with Your Influence

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Welcome to Bible Study Monday! We are walking through our newest Bible study, Courageous Influence, right here with you. Each week we provide the reading assignment, a really great discussion video featuring three (in)courage writers, a quote of the week, reflection questions, and a prayer. All you need is your copy of Courageous Influence and an open heart, and we’ll take care of the rest!

So far we’ve discussed:

  • Week 1, which began with a foundational statement: You are a woman of influence,
  • Week 2, which revealed that influence is about where God has placed you and your willingness to say yes to Him,
  • And Week 3, which explored what it means to be a person of integrity in using our influence.

Now we turn to Week 4, which teaches us to be generous with our influence.

Reading Assignment

This week, read Week Four: Be Generous With Your Influence, on pages 111-144 in the Courageous Influence Bible Study. Grab your copy and start reading!

Quote of the Week

Keep this quote in mind as you read Week Four:

We never know when a word spoken or a kindness shared may have a lasting impact on someone.

– Grace P. Cho in Courageous Influence. Feel free to download this quote to share with a friend!

Discussion Video

Three of our (in)courage writers invite us into their conversations about Courageous Influence! Join study author Grace P. Cho along with Becky Keife and Kathi Lipp as they discuss each week of the Bible study. Listen in on their conversation about Week Four (and find all the weekly videos here):

Reflection Questions

In the comments below, answer and discuss the following reflection questions:

  • How can we be cheerful givers of our influence (finances, skills, energy, investment, or your presence) without feeling resentful or entitled to something in return?
  • What are some of the ways God has provided generously for you? (p. 136)

Let’s Pray Together

Lord, You are a God who sees, a God who notices and has compassion. Thank You. I pray that I would be able to hold the influence You’ve given me loosely — not hoarding it for a special few but offering it generously to many. As Jesus has done, so help me to do the same. Amen.

Get a FREE week from each of our Courageous Bible Studies (including Courageous Influence) and find free leader resources here!

Remember, answer the reflection questions in the comments so we can discuss Week Four together! We’ll see you back here next Monday to begin Week Five: Be Intentional with Your Influence.

When Stepping Aside Makes Room for Others to Flourish

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I heard my husband stirring. He’s an early riser so I wasn’t completely surprised, but it seemed awfully dark.

I squinted at him and mumbled, “What time is it?”

“It’s 2:30,” he said. “I’m getting up to ride my bike trainer and watch the Olympics.”

“You’re crazy,” I chided him, then rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Maybe you weren’t as committed as my husband to get up in the middle of the night to watch your favorite Olympic events live, but I’m guessing you watched some of the Tokyo Olympic Games this past month.

I feel like we all desperately needed the Olympics during this season. After all the lockdowns and loss, the Olympics certainly felt like a bit of starlight on a dark night.

The Olympics is always brimming with human stories of tragedy and triumph, hard work, courage, and overcoming. Anything can happen on the world stage of the Olympics. That’s what we love about it.

One of the most compelling Olympic stories that unfolded this year was gymnast Simone Biles making the decision to pull out of the team event and all-around competition. Simone, who is considered the greatest gymnast of all time, bravely shared on her own social media platforms and in interviews that she was stepping aside to take care of her mental health.

Commentators and spectators alike were shocked, but a flood of support also followed her decision to step aside. She was making a statement to the world that she was more than her athletic performance.

Sometimes stepping aside is just as important as stepping up.

By Simone stepping aside, she opened the door for her teammates and other athletes to step up and show their talent.

That’s how Sunisa Lee, an eighteen-year-old from Minnesota, became the Olympic all-around gymnastics champion representing the United States. Suni competed not just for herself but also for her family, her community, and all the first-generation Americans. She also trained tirelessly and hoped to take home a medal to honor her father, who suffered a spinal cord injury in 2019, and she became the first Hmong-American to capture the gold.

And Simone was there on the sidelines cheering on her teammate.

I can’t stop thinking about these two young women — Simone and Suni.

Both of them have garnered the deep respect of the world because one stepped aside and another stepped up.

On a much smaller scale, I remember being challenged to make a life-changing decision seven years ago after my husband went to heaven. He and I were directors of a non-profit organization in Haiti, but after his death, I had to decide if I would continue our work with the non-profit.

After agonizing and praying, I decided it was time to step down from my role. I knew my three young daughters needed some stability as we all navigated the loss of my husband and their daddy.

This was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made in my life. I was saying goodbye to my friends, the ministry my husband and I had poured our lives into, and my sense of calling.

But I felt confident in my spirit that it was the right thing to do. I knew that the board of directors would feel more freedom to make important decisions without me, and I knew God would raise up new leaders because the ministry ultimately belonged to Him.

Sometimes stepping aside to care for ourselves and let other people step into their callings can be humbling and hard. But this is exactly the kind of radical humility Jesus modeled for us.

So he got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and poured water into a basin. Then he began to wash the disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he had around him.
John 13:4-5 (NLT)

On that night when He bent low to wash the grimy feet of His disciples, He was communicating a deep love and profound lesson about leadership. Jesus washed His disciples’ feet to prepare them for the future. In a short time, He would be going to the cross — the ultimate act of humility — and then eventually returning to the Father. He washed their feet to equip them so they could step out into ministry too.

“And since I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done to you.”
John 13:14-15 (NLT)

Jesus is clear that He wants His disciples to follow His example. He hopes for them to lead with humility. He longs for them to love lavishly by serving others. He eventually commissions them to bring the good news to the world.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is to bend low so that we can lift others up.

Simone Biles did this at the Olympics.

And Suni Lee stepped into her purpose because of that. She took home the gold, but she didn’t do it just for herself. She did it for all of us.

Friend, is there a way you can leverage your own position or privilege to help someone else flourish?

To read more from Dorina about flourishing in your God-given calling, check out her books, Bible studies, and subscribe to her weekly Glorygram.

How an Almost Ruined Vacation Helped Me See God’s Provision

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In Luke 10:25-37, Jesus tells a story about a man who had been robbed, stripped of his clothes, and left for dead on the side of the road. When two religious men saw him, they crossed the street to avoid him. But then another man walked by and noticed the wounded man. Instead of moving away from him, he moved towards him. He bent down and bandaged the man’s wounds, took him to an inn, and paid for the care he needed to get well.

This isn’t just a story Jesus told; it’s the story He lived — a story that paints a picture of who He is. Filled with compassion and concern, Jesus always moved closer, not just with words but with action. Compelled by love that wants to help when we’re hurting, Scripture promises that He is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

I needed to be reminded of these truths recently when our family was on a long-awaited vacation and my husband, J.J., got stung by a stingray during our second day there.

I was on the porch when I saw my twenty-three-year old son running towards the house yelling for me to “get something to stop the bleeding from dad’s leg!” We didn’t know what had happened, only that something large and very sharp had pierced J.J.’s ankle, near his Achilles tendon, and he was in horrific pain.

I ran back inside to find towels to wrap around his wound and started praying, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

All of us went into panic mode, insisting we needed to call 911. We needed to elevate and bandage his foot. We needed to wrap something tightly around his leg in case it was poisonous, to stop it from spreading into his bloodstream.

I called 911 and gave my phone to J.J. to tell the dispatcher what had happened. While he was talking and I was praying, I felt compelled to go see if maybe someone staying in the house next to us was a doctor or a nurse. I walked over and knocked on the door, and sure enough one of the moms was a pediatric nurse. She immediately grabbed her large first aid kit and came with me to our place.

Her medical background brought assurance and her presence brought calm to our state of panic as she took J.J.s blood pressure and bandaged his leg. She stayed with us until an ambulance and emergency medical team arrived.

A few minutes later, a woman I didn’t recognize walked up to the porch and introduced herself as Deb, our rental home’s property manager. She “happened to be nearby” and saw the ambulance. She stayed until we left in the ambulance, to make sure J.J. was okay and to make sure I knew how to get in touch with her so she could arrange transportation back from the hospital late that night. I had no idea how big of a provision Deb would be in the hours that followed.

We were staying on an island in South Carolina that’s only accessible by ferry. The nearest hospital was on a larger island thirty minutes away. It would take two ambulances and a ferry to get us to the ER, where we would wait for hours to get X-rays and antibiotics to prevent infection.

While in the ER, we met a family with a little boy who had an infected appendix. J.J. offered his spot on the ER waiting list to help him be seen sooner. Several hours later, while I was trying to get an Uber ride back to the dock in time to catch the last ferry at 11:30pm, that little boy’s grandpa heard me talking and offered to give us a ride.

Because of his kindness, we got to the dock just in time and made it back to the island by midnight where Deb met us in a golf cart and took us back to our beach house rental.

When the trauma of J.J.’s injury happened, we were both in shock and scared. As time passed, we grew frustrated and upset, knowing he would be in pain for days and our desperately needed vacation may be ruined.

We were hoping to recover from two months of extremely difficult circumstances, one after another in the weeks leading up to our vacation. Our whole family was together for the first time in months. We needed downtime, laughter, and fun. Now another injury and disruption threatened to highjack all we had hoped for.

Feeling a little abandoned by God, we questioned why all of this was happening. But in the midst of our disappointments and painful moments, Jesus showed up in so many ways, to take care of us again and again. Each person who met us in our need reminded me of how Jesus will never just walk by us. He promises to come to our side, to bend low, to provide for us, and be with us.

When trials threaten our peace or our responsibilities, jobs, and failures discourage us, instead of being overwhelmed by our lives, God wants us to be overwhelmed by His love. His love is present and powerful, and no amount of stress or pain, struggle, or circumstance can keep us from Him.

With outstretched hands, Jesus came to bind up our wounds and care for us. No matter what we need, He moves in close, offering healing for our hurts, comfort for our concerns, and rest for our weary souls.

What Labels Have Been Put on You? Here’s What’s Really True . . .

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Stressed. Depressed. Anxious. Frustrated. Broken.

The labels stick to our hearts, covering our identities until we can’t see who we are anymore. We come to believe that our struggles and circumstances define us. But those are just descriptions, not determinations. Who you are doesn’t change based on the kind of day, week, or year you have. You are a child of God, someone loved beyond all you can imagine, no matter what.

A friend going through a difficult time called me. As we talked, she kept repeating the same phrase: “I guess I’m just the girl who has this struggle.” I finally stopped her and said as gently as I could, “That’s where you’re at right now. It’s not who you are.”

You see, life’s obstacles are temporary. Who you are is eternal.

My husband and I visited Canada a few years ago. Imagine if we had stepped into a coffee shop and the baristas had asked, “Who are you?” and I had answered, “I’m a Canadian, y’all.” They would have taken one look at my touristy tennis shoes and listened to my Southern accent, then shook their heads in bemused disagreement. I imagine you would do the same. Because you understand this: there’s a difference between a visitor and a citizen. And “we are citizens of heaven,” declares the apostle Paul (Philippians 3:20).

When we look at what’s happening in our lives and say, “This is who I am,” it’s much like me declaring myself a Canadian just because I crossed the border. As my friend and fellow (in)courage contributor Jennifer Dukes Lee once wrote me in an email, “We don’t have to be a ‘citizen’ of the ‘place’ we’re standing in right now. I’m not a citizen of Sad City, a resident of Rejectionville, or a townsperson of Trouble Town. I have a citizenship in heaven.” Your circumstances may change, but who you truly are remains forever the same. Your identity is eternally secure in Christ.

What words have you been using to describe who you are based on where you are in life right now? Whatever comes to mind is where you’re at, not who you are. It’s your current location. To help shift your perspective, rewrite those words as phrases that show they aren’t part of your identity. For example, “I’m going through a stressful time right now” or “I have experienced a divorce” or “I’m battling an illness.”

Once you know who you’re not, it’s time to ask God one of the most important questions of all: “Who am I?” Perhaps there’s no more important time for seeking these answers than when we’re in the middle of a bad day or a hard season. We lean into God’s heart and ask, “Who am I in spite of this? Tell me what’s true about me no matter what happens.”

I love how Hebrews reassures us that “it is impossible for God to lie” (Hebrews 6:18). Your circumstances will lie to you. Your emotions will lie to you. Even other people will lie to you. But not God. “This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls” (Hebrews 6:19). Your identity is secure. Nothing going on in your life can change it.

Join me in prayer today: God, nothing that happens to me in this life can change who you say I am. My identity is secure in you forever. On the days when I’m tempted to believe where I am is who I am, remind me of what is true. Amen.

This is an excerpt from Holley Gerth’s upcoming devotional, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Truths to Protect Your Peace. If you want to live with more peace and less pressure, more calm and less chaos, more worship and less worry, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times is for you.