Before You Make New Plans for This New Year, Read This

Before You Make New Plans for This New Year, Read This

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“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”
Jeremiah 33:3 NIV

If given the choice to know what the year ahead will hold or let it all remain a mystery to day-by-day unfold, most of us would probably choose to know. Mystery breeds uncertainty. Uncertainty often causes us to grasp for control.

But what if the mysteries and uncertainties of life were actually meant to compel us to call on God? To propel us to reach out to Him. To lean into Him. To surrender to Him and linger with Him.

The fact that God invites us to call to Him is our assurance that He listens to us. And not only does He listen to our questions, doubts, dreams, desires, and concerns, but He also answers us!

At the start of this new year, may you experience God’s gift of peace knowing that every uncertainty ahead is an opportunity to trust your loving Savior. May you resist the pressure and temptation to sprint ahead of God’s plans and fill up a blank calendar with lofty resolutions and commitments that will stretch you thin.

May you remember that you are more than any goal met, any resolution kept, any to-do list checked. You are known by God. You are His child to whom He turns His ear.

You are loved just as you are.

May you find rest in that truth.

A prayer for this very new year:

Lord, there is so much ahead of us that we can’t foresee, so much we wish we could control but can’t. We hold all our questions, desires, and longings out to You. We want to trust You, but we acknowledge that we need help with that sometimes. Help us remember who we are, through the lens and truth of who You are. Thank You that we can be anchored in faith when we are tethered to You. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen. 

Happy New Year, friends!

Because of God’s Faithful Love, You Were Not Overcome

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The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
    His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
    his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”
Lamentations 3:22-24 NLT

You made it to the end of the year. Because of God’s faithful love, you were not overcome. You did not perish — nor will you ever if your trust is in Him. Today is the last day of 2024, and tomorrow ushers in the start of a new year . . . along with God’s faithfulness to see us through it all.

No matter what you’ve faced this year, tomorrow is full of new mercies. Because of God’s grace and forgiveness, we are offered a new heart and a new spirit:

“And I will give you a new heart — I will give you new and right desires — and put a new spirit within you. I will take out your stony hearts of sin and give you new hearts of love. And I will put my Spirit within you so that you will obey my laws and do whatever I command.”
Ezekiel 36:26-27 TLB

As we close out this year, reflecting on all that has happened in the past 365 days, all the ways we’ve grown and struggled and loved and learned, let’s remember that a new day is coming. God will give us a new heart — as well as a new year.

Happy last day of 2024, friends. May your heart feel renewed, refreshed, and ready to welcome every ounce of God’s faithful love and new mercies ahead in 2025.

When the Shadows of Real Life Threaten Your Holiday Joy

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the American nineteenth-century poet who penned the words to one of our beloved Christmas carols, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” experienced more than his fair share of heartache. Years before writing the stanzas that became that Christmas staple, HWL lost his first wife following a miscarriage. Seven years later, he married Francis Appleton. Together, they made a home in Cambridge, Massachusetts and had six children, one of whom sadly died in infancy. Then, one evening in 1861, his close-knit family suffered another devastating blow. As Francis sealed envelopes with hot wax, her skirt caught fire, and she didn’t survive the burns. HWL, severely burned himself in an effort to help Francis. He grieved the loss of his wife deeply.

A committed abolitionist, HWL later gave his eighteen-year-old son, Charles, permission to fight for the Union army during the Civil War. When Charles was wounded and nearly paralyzed shortly before Christmas 1863, he was sent home to recover. Overwhelmed with young children to care for, his oldest son’s recuperation, and a country he loved in the throes of war, HWL heard bells ringing in Cambridge on Christmas Day.

It was then that he wrote his now famous poem, “Christmas Bells” acknowledging the real suffering and devastation that can’t outrun the real stubborn, determined way of Hope:

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail,
The right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

***

Several years ago, my family walked through a heckuva trial that dragged on and on with no end in sight. As Christmas approached that year, I begged God to please, please bring a positive resolution before Christmas Day so we could experience a happier holiday that year.

Alas, no positive resolution came.

On Christmas Eve of that year, I asked myself:

How can I be merry and bright when my circumstances feel miserably broken?

For all previous Christmas seasons, I could co-exist with the struggles of real life and still enjoy my Bing Crosby tunes, sparkling tree lights, and Christmas sugar cookies. But that year, I couldn’t relish any of it. Our Very Big Ordeal loomed like Goliath over me, and our shadowy circumstances threatened to swallow me right up.

Eventually, I turned to Scripture, reading of Gabriel’s visit to Mary.

“The angel answered her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God’.”
Luke 1:35 ESV

Before Mary gave birth to Jesus, she had to first receive the miracle formed in the shadows. She had to sit in the shadow of the Most High.

Miracles form in the shadows, and we never know when one will show up smack-dab in the middle of real life.

A few sentences before Luke 1:35, we read Gabriel’s words,

“And he came to [Mary] and said, ‘Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you! But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.’”
Luke 1:28-30 ESV

When we’re overshadowed by troubles, not only could those shadows precede a miracle, but God tells us within them, do not be afraid. I am with you. What’s more, though it rarely feels like favor in the moment, the truth is that God can take what we’re going through and, in His hands, turn it into a surprising provision of grace — somehow, someway.

If things look different for you this Christmas and New Year season, there’s no shame in being sad about it. That’s real life. Following that shadow of sadness, perhaps a miracle will come. Perhaps from the sorrow and brokenness will come a new truth or tradition that will bless you for decades to come. Maybe something will change for the better, and maybe it won’t. Either way, you and I serve ourselves well when we let go of our expectations that the holiday season (or life!) will only be good if it looks a certain way.

We also serve ourselves well when we read hopeful stories of those “great cloud of witnesses” who lived through every kind of uncertainty on the spectrum with no guarantee of outcomes. Yet they believed:

God is not dead nor doth He sleep.
In the end, the wrong shall fail and the right prevail.
With peace on earth, goodwill to men.

My situation wasn’t resolved by New Year’s Day and in reality, not by the next one either. Miraculously, though, I can see today — years later — how God continues to birth miracle after miracle from that dreadfully dark time.

Christmas Day may have come and gone, but may we still be acutely aware of how God births miracles in the dark. May we remember He turns our impossible into possible (Luke 1:37). When we start to doubt or forget this, may we take our eyes off of what’s around us and instead look toward our Emmanuel, Jesus — the Way, the Truth, and the Real Life who is with us always.

If loneliness is the shadow that threatens your seasonal joy, perhaps this resource could be of help to you.

 

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

An Invitation to Remember God’s Faithfulness This Year

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

2024 is about to end — can you believe it? As we settle our hearts after the celebrations and chaos of the holidays, let’s pause and remember God’s faithfulness this year. We would love to hear from you:

  • What prayers have been answered? 
  • At what moments did you see or hear God clearly? 
  • Who in your life has shown you more of God?
  • When things were hard, how did you experience God’s nearness?

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

Breathe in God’s grace for you. It is enough.

How Studying Theology Taught Me God Is Right There on the Dance Floor With Us

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Another lifetime ago, or so it seems, I was a ballet dancer.

This fun fact comes in handy for ice breakers and team building activities, but I try to keep conversations about my dancing years on the surface. Truth-be-told, pain filled those years. I used ballet as an escape. I used ballet as a way to abuse my body. I used ballet to disconnect my heart and my head from the truth of my belovedness.

During a particularly demanding run of Sleeping Beauty, I danced the solo role of one of Aurora’s fairies. The dance, simultaneously dainty and languid, showed off my feet and my fingers in a way that I really liked. One day during rehearsal, I made a small choice that I considered minor. I slightly changed the position of my arm — barely just a little. I remember seeing another ballerina extend her arm in a similar way when she performed this same dance, and I thought it looked so beautiful. But that barely-there alteration resulted in the ballet director dramatically halting the pianist and berating me for daring to change the choreography. For her, this alteration directly challenged her authority. Because, when it came down to it, I’d signed a contract and, thus, my job was just “dancer.” I was required to perform the steps according to the choreography that was coordinated with the music.

That was the day I decided I didn’t love ballet anymore.

It took me several decades to reconcile my broken relationship between ballet and my body. Surprisingly, studying theology helped this reconciliation more than anything else. You see, now I am a mother. A wife. A caregiver. I’m training to be a hospital chaplain. I teach the Bible and study theology. Out of all of the truths I’ve learned inside and outside of seminary, my biggest, most important revelation has been: the way we view God will ultimately affect how we view everything else. One example of this is how I’ve viewed God as a berating master choreographer. My duty, then, as a believer demanded that I “perform the choreography.” Discipleship felt like one grand performance. My job as a faithful follower consisted of striving to execute my steps perfectly. In time, I approached holiness, sanctification, obedience, and faithfulness through this lens of perfection. These qualities weren’t something that I depended on the Holy Spirit to direct. Instead, I worked towards those things on my own and, y’all . . . it didn’t work.

I abused my body, convincing myself that arduous work counted as a sacrifice. Theologically, I told myself I couldn’t pursue things like joy and beauty because “I was dying to myself.” I didn’t believe that my voice had meaning or that I had any real agency. My priority, my main purpose, merely consisted of donning my costume and playing my character. I did this at church, too. I kept my mouth shut, put a smile on my face, and pretended in the pews. I pretended I wasn’t in pain. I pretended I wasn’t lonely. I pretended lots of things. But mostly, I lived in a state of constant terror, worried that one wrong move might set off the ill-tempered choreographer and that my misstep — no matter how small — would result in public shame. In my brain, God was like my former choreographer. And I feared the idea that God might rebuke me for daring to, in any way, deviate outside of the role religion handed me.

But studying theology helped me realize that God is less like the director or the ticket box salesperson. God is less like the owner of the theater or the highest-paying donor. God is more like the divine dance. He is inviting us to participate in a dance party rather than a performance. God isn’t worried about us ruining the choreography or losing our footing. He just wants to enjoy dancing with us. God is inviting us to try new steps, take risks, and trust in His kindness. He wants us to invite more people to the party. God is right there on the dance floor with us, showing us what it looks like to participate in the dynamic of His grace and goodness.

In the world of theological studies (and even in everyday life), many of us are curious about the particulars — the semantics and the mechanics. Proper form and technique. Orthodoxy and doctrine. And there’s a place for all of that, sure. But God isn’t screaming at us to get our act together, work harder, or comply. He is not sitting in the director chair with legs crossed, a scowl on His face. God is leading us, smiling with us, resting with us, and teaching us what it’s like to enjoy moving together.

I encourage you to ask yourself questions like How do I view God? and Why? Because when we wonder about God, He loves to reveal who He is. God loves to replace the lies we tell ourselves with an invitation to draw closer, empowering us to depend fully on His divine grace. And as you slowly, gently, carefully, replace those lies with truth, I hope you heal knowing that God loves you, God is with you, and God is good.

Mostly, I hope you enjoy the dance.

How One Word Can Help You Receive God’s Best

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One of my favorite practices during the week between Christmas and New Year is to pull out my journals, notebooks, and calendar from the past year — and look back. I take time to remember all the big milestones and small joys, all the heartaches and blessings I never saw coming. I read through written prayers and recall the ways God answered them or the places where I’m still waiting to see His faithfulness on display.

Looking back, actively remembering, and intentionally praising God primes my heart to receive any direction He wants to provide for the year ahead.

And yes, I’m a big fan of direction! (Please don’t make me guess, Lord!) Thankfully, God’s Word is full of His promises to lead, guide, and direct us!

Here are just a few examples:

“I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.”
Psalm 32:8 NLT

Your own ears will hear him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go.”
Isaiah 30:21 NLT

“ When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own but will tell you what he has heard. He will tell you about the future.”
John 16:13 NLT

One way God has consistently guided me is through a Word of the Year. After I reflect on the twelve months behind me, I ask God what He wants me to know about the twelve months ahead. I ask God other questions like:

  • What do You want me to focus on this year?
  • What promise do You want me to cling to?
  • How do you want to grow me to become more like You, Jesus?
  • Where are you working, Lord, and how can I partner with You?
  • Is there a specific word or phrase that You want to use to guide my year?

Then I listen. Wait. Be still. Breathe. And record whatever the Holy Spirit brings to my mind. And I can tell you, friends, year after year, God has been so faithful to speak! I’ve received words like continue, delight, rest, strength, and expectancy. I could fill a whole book with the ways these words have marked my heart and ordered my steps.

And I’m not special! I don’t have unique access to God. His throne of grace is open to ALL of His children (Hebrews 4:16). Anyone who needs wisdom can ask God and He will give it! (James 1:5). Jesus said to keep on asking! (Matthew 7:7-8).

You, dear one, can seek God and receive all that He has for you today and for the year ahead. 

And if you need a little help, keep reading to see how our friends at DaySpring have put together a resource to discover a Word of the Year that will be meaningful to you today and for the next twelve months!

“The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives. Though they stumble, they will never fall, for the Lord holds them by the hand.”
Psalm 37:23-24 NLT

I’m praising God for His faithfulness yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And I’m praising God for YOU!

Here’s to looking back, looking forward, and receiving ALL that the good Lord has for us.

Becky Keife
(in)courage Community & Editorial Manager

As we softly step into 2025 and begin a new year, many of us are excited to make resolutions, set goals, and create positive changes in our lives. As believers, the new year also means continuing to grow and deepen our faith and live it out with intentionality – for this, choosing a word of the year can be a powerful tool.

What does it mean to choose a Word of the Year?  

Everywhere we turn — whether online or in the world around us — we’re bombarded with tips and ideas for New Year’s resolutions and carefully curated plans. But what if we’re seeking direction from the wrong sources? What if the true, life-giving guidance we need is already laid out for us in God’s Word?

What if 2025 could be different?

In John 16:33, Jesus tells us, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” God offers us unshakeable peace — a peace that transcends the ups and downs of life, rooted in Christ’s victory over all. Instead of fleeting resolutions, let’s focus on God’s eternal truth as our guide for the next twelve months, and beyond!

Get your 2025 Word of the Year at dayspring.com!

Allow us to help you discover a theme from God’s Word that will speak directly to where you are, offering clarity and steady peace in every step you take throughout 2025. Because we have unshakeable peace in Christ, we can do anything through Him. Now, what is God calling you to do this year?

You’re just a few questions away from discovering your Word of the Year for 2025!

The Best Way to Spend the Day AFTER Christmas

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Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
there were piles of everything everywhere,
and an exhausted woman on her couch.

If you’re anything like me, the temptation the day after Christmas is to restore life back to what it was before the Thanksgiving-Christmas marathon began. However, if we ask our bodies what they’d prefer, our bodies would scream one word: REST.

Did you know that after a runner completes a marathon, Runner’s World recommends one day of rest per mile run? Since a marathon is 26.2 miles, that equals 26 days of rest before runners resume their training routine. Even if a runner feels good enough to get back out there, restarting too soon can damage the body’s tendons and soft tissue, leading to injury.

For 30-ish days between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day, many of our lives feel like a marathon. On Christmas night, we finally cross the holiday finish line and collapse on the couch. Yet, instead of resting the next day, we drag out of bed and stagger around our house collecting the holiday shrapnel of used wrapping paper, half-eaten plates of food, and dirty guest towels. The faulty promise we make to ourselves is that we’ll rest better once the mess disappears. In my Stronger Than Stress book, I explain it like this: “Humanity’s collective toxic trait is that belief that recovery after exhaustion is better than resting to prevent exhaustion.”

Who resonates with that?

This year, I pondered what Mary might have done the day after Jesus’ birth. The biblical text doesn’t tell how much time elapsed between Mary and Joseph’s arrival in Bethlehem and Jesus’ birth. All we know is that she gave birth while they were there. The next scriptural timestamp is on the eighth day after Jesus’ birth when He is presented in the temple.

What do you think Mary did for those eight days? Did she pull herself out of bed after little sleep with a newborn so that she could tidy up around the manger? Maybe Mary did a little sweeping because she felt lazy lying around. While this is all speculation, I invite you to get curious with me. While we aren’t privy to all the details of Mary’s days after Jesus’ birth, we are given a precious nugget into Mary’s emotional state:

“…but Mary kept all these things in her heart and thought about them often.”
Luke 2:19 NLT

An essential aspect of our human experience is assigning meaning to the events that shape our lives. It’s here that I’ll vote that Mary did have some rest. Reflection is difficult, if not impossible, when we’re exhausted or living in survival mode. Yet, when we rest, we can savor precious moments and our brains can imprint long-term memories.

I want to think Mary let her body sink into a pallet of thick hay, covered with her traveling cloak, maybe Joseph’s, too. Since hospitality was a priority in their ancient culture, the nearby women might have supplied nourishing food and warm drinks to help Mary recover. At some point, Mary would have resumed her duties as a wife and mother, but I speculate that if Mary could reflect, it was because she took time to rest. 

Here’s my takeaway: We devoted so much time and effort into making this Christmas special, what if today was a rest day? Not only could we begin to recover our strength, but we can also remember what made this Christmas special.

Rest is a gift that you can give your body and your spirit. Rest doesn’t need to be earned, but you do need to permit yourself to take it without guilt.

Let’s begin with rest recovery for your body:

  1. Check-in with your body: What’s sore, achy, or tense? 
  2. What do you need to restart that you may have neglected during the holidays? (For example: more sleep, better diet, etc.)
  3. If your muscles are tense, what was stressful or overwhelming for you? Quick regulation tip: Inhale/exhale slowly five times to begin pushing stress out of your body. Do this several times today.

Next, here are three “pondering” prompts to help you savor what was precious this Christmas season:

  1. Who did you see this Christmas season that made you smile?
  2. Was there a fun moment, a funny moment, or a time when you laughed until you cried? What happened and who was with you?
  3.  If you could freeze one or two moments from this Christmas and keep them in your heart forever, what would those moments be?
  4. Was there a part of the story of Jesus’ birth that resonated with you this year? Why?
  5. Fill in the blank: When I look back on Christmas 2024, I want to remember _______________________________.

As a get-it-done woman, I’m committed to rest on this day after Christmas to remember all God has done this season. Who’s with me?

Barb’s new book and Bible study, Stronger Than Stress equips you to win the battle of stress and overwhelm with ten spiritual practices that teach you to live with less stress and more peace every day.

Merry Christmas! Let’s Celebrate God’s Great Gift!

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The birth of Jesus took place like this. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. Before they enjoyed their wedding night, Joseph discovered she was pregnant. (It was by the Holy Spirit, but he didn’t know that.) Joseph, chagrined but noble, determined to take care of things quietly so Mary would not be disgraced.

 While he was trying to figure a way out, he had a dream. God’s angel spoke in the dream: “Joseph, son of David, don’t hesitate to get married. Mary’s pregnancy is Spirit-conceived. God’s Holy Spirit has made her pregnant. She will bring a son to birth, and when she does, you, Joseph, will name him Jesus—‘God saves’—because he will save his people from their sins.” This would bring the prophet’s embryonic revelation to full term:

Watch for this—a virgin will get pregnant and bear a son;
They will name him Immanuel (Hebrew for “God is with us”).

Then Joseph woke up. He did exactly what God’s angel commanded in the dream: He married Mary. But he did not consummate the marriage until she had the baby. He named the baby Jesus.
Matthew 1:18-25 The Message 

–image if we have one–

We’ve journeyed together through Christ’s promises for weeks, and now we’re here!

Merry, merry Christmas.

May your day be bright as you celebrate God’s Great Gift — the never-ending, amazing love we have in His son, Jesus.

Jesus is our Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, and Prince of Peace, and He loves you dearly.

Like the angels and shepherds, we cry, “Glory to God in the highest!”

We’re thanking God for His radical, creative love in sending the gift of Savior, born a baby named Jesus, to walk among us as Emmanuel. May we never get over the wonder.

Merry Christmas, friends, from all of us here at (in)courage!

In Celebration of Our Humble, Miraculous Savior

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On this Christmas Eve, we invite you to take a journey with storyteller Sherri Gragg as she leads us in a meditation on what Christ’s birth might have been like. This story is likely not the version you are accustomed to, but based on historical and cultural evidence, this very well may have been closer to Mary’s experience.

Regardless of the details, we pray that your heart will be led to the celebration and worship of our humble, miraculous Savior!

—

“While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.”
Luke 2:6-7 NIV

Mary couldn’t sit still.

With great effort she rose from the low stool in the courtyard where she and the other women were preparing the evening meal. She placed one hand on her lower back and began to pace back and forth. She felt restless, uneasy.

The older women watched her for a moment before casting knowing looks to each other. Mary’s baby was ready to make His entrance.

As the family sat in a circle on the floor, tearing off pieces of pita bread and scooping up couscous and yogurt from the large communal bowl, Mary sat looking at the piece of bread in her hand.

She knew she should be ravenous, but somehow she couldn’t eat. She reached up to wipe a trickle of sweat from her temple. The packed room was stifling despite the fact that the sun had set long ago.

A moment later Mary gasped as the dull ache in her lower abdomen suddenly intensified. One of Joseph’s aunts, seated next to her, frowned, reached out to place a hand on her stomach, and found the muscles clenched tight. “It’s time,” she said.

Joseph leapt to his feet, his face white with alarm. His uncle chuckled, patted him on the shoulder, and sent him off to get the town midwife. As two of the women helped Mary to her feet, the matriarch of the family began barking orders to the rest of the clan. Normally Mary would have been offered the privacy and comfort of the kataluma, the guest room, but since the house was full of guests and her labor could possibly stretch into the early hours of the morning, they would need to improvise.

Quickly, the animals were evicted from the stables beneath the main living area. The children were tasked with sweeping the area clean and placing fresh straw on the floor. By the time the midwife arrived, Mary was leaning against the cool stone wall of the stables as she waited for the next contraction to pass.

The jovial older woman shuffled into the stables, birthing stool hooked over her arm. Joseph peeked anxiously through the doorway at his wife for a moment before one of the women shooed him away to wait upstairs.

The moment his foot landed on the first step leading to the main living room, Mary cried out in pain. Joseph froze. Beside him, his uncle laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.“Come, Joseph,” he said. “She is in good hands.”

Hours later, in the dark early hours of the morning, Mary gasped for air and cried out in pain from the birthing stool, where she leaned back into the supportive arms of Joseph’s aunt. The midwife crouched low in front of her, murmuring encouragement.

“It is time to push, my daughter,” she said. “Be strong now.”

The next contraction tore through Mary’s body only seconds after the last one subsided. Then, with a cry of agony, she bore down with all of her remaining strength.

The pain faded as her baby’s first cry pierced the night.

“You have a son!” the midwife announced. Upstairs, Joseph’s ecstatic shout was joined by the joyful celebration of his uncles and cousins.

In the stables below, the midwife tenderly placed the crying baby on His young mother’s chest. Tears flowed down Mary’s face as she bent to kiss her son’s forehead for the first time.

Joseph peeked around the corner of the stables. His aunt turned to wave him into the room. “Come,” she said. “Come meet your son.”Joseph rushed to Mary’s side and knelt down to wrap an arm around her. Gently he placed a calloused hand on the baby’s head as he blinked back tears of joy.

“Have you chosen a name?” his aunt asked.

“Yeshua,” Mary said as she gazed tenderly into the eyes of her son, now quiet and alert. “Yeshua…”

“She will give birth to a son, and you are to give Him the name Jesus [Yeshua], because He will save His people from their sins.”
Matthew 1:21 NIV

By Sherri Gragg from Advent: The Story of Christmas.

We’ve been journeying with this ancient story each week during the season of Advent, and it’s led us here to Christmas Eve. May you experience God’s Word in fresh ways as you anticipate Christmas morning.

 

Listen to this devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts!

When Preparing for Christmas Feels Like Preparing for a Final Exam

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The other day, I told David if parenting is a marathon, then we’re at the twenty-third-ish mile, and sometimes I want to fall out, put my feet up, and chug a tall sweet tea. Parenting kids of any age is exhausting business, but what exhausts shifts and changes. For nineteen years, I’ve bent and moved through many different stages, often unsure of what in the heck I’m doing. The older they get, the more unsure I am. My knees know the floor as I’m not too proud to beg for help.

My big kids can do a lot more independently, but I’m finding they require a lot more inwardly. We have many, many primetime heart to hearts. For whatever reason, my kids are rarely in the mood for these chats before 10pm. And after getting dinner on the table (sometimes in shifts), driving my daughter to tennis lessons, helping both sons with fifty-seven college essays and scholarship applications, taking the animals to the vet for shots, arranging Christmas gifts for a couple folks, writing for that project, and completing a dozen other household chores, I’m not sure I’m all that great of a conversationalist at 10 or 11pm. Sometimes I do it well, in spite of weighty eyelids. Sometimes I get short and cranky because those “new mercies” are all used up and I’ve got nothin’.

Here’s more truth for you: I’m tired this December like I’ve never been tired before. The Advent season feels like one more thing I need to do — or rather several more. Because if I don’t get all the prep work finished, if I don’t remind my kids often enough who the Star of the program is, then I’m not properly preparing them to really, truly grasp the importance of the season.

Christmas has always been my most favorite time of year, and it still is. In fact, I really, truly want to give Advent proper attention. I find it fun — that is, until I don’t. When I take a drastic left turn toward the corner of High Expectations and Demanding Drive, then I’ve begun to treat preparing for Christmas like I’m preparing for a final exam. And Jesus never asked me to consider it a test I would pass or fail. He brings freedom and joy, not an itemized list of expectations.

So I don’t need to stay up all night cramming.

I don’t need to chase down all the answers.

I don’t need to fret that there’s an entire section I forgot to review.

I certainly don’t need to study for a class I don’t need, which is what I do every time I adopt a tradition for my own family just because I saw another family doing it first.

I need to relax and prepare my heart to be with Jesus rather than worry about how I behave in preparation for Him. And I need to reflect this truth to my kids, too.

I want to stop and let Christmas find me.

I don’t want to run toward Christmas, I want to just simmer down and let Christmas come to me. I want to welcome Jesus into our home, look expectantly for natural ways to usher him into my family’s lives. Because here’s the laid-back truth behind the season: Love came down to us. Jesus came down to encourage, not to exhaust.

May we be a people who don’t fret and worry about passing or failing Christmas, about ruining our holiday GPA. There is no such thing.

May we be a people who revel in the simplicity of Christmas, who simply lay out the welcome mat before the door of our hearts and leave room for the unexpected.

And may we believe God capably brims our gaps more than we ever imagined.

By Kristen Strong, originally published on (in)courage on December 6, 2018.

 

The Promise of Hope and a Future

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This is what the Lord of Armies, the God of Israel, says to all the exiles I deported from Jerusalem to Babylon: “Build houses and live in them. Plant gardens and eat their produce. Find wives for yourselves, and have sons and daughters. Find wives for your sons and give your daughters to men in marriage so that they may bear sons and daughters. Multiply there; do not decrease. Pursue the well-being of the city I have deported you to. Pray to the Lord on its behalf, for when it thrives, you will thrive.”

For this is what the Lord of Armies, the God of Israel, says: “Don’t let your prophets who are among you and your diviners deceive you, and don’t listen to the dreams you elicit from them, for they are prophesying falsely to you in my name. I have not sent them.” This is the Lord’s declaration.

For this is what the Lord says: “When seventy years for Babylon are complete, I will attend to you and will confirm my promise concerning you to restore you to this place. For I know the plans I have for you”—this is the Lord’s declaration—“plans for your well-being, not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. You will call to me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you search for me with all your heart. I will be found by you”—this is the Lord’s declaration—“and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and places where I banished you”—this is the Lord’s declaration. “I will restore you to the place from which I deported you.”
Jeremiah 29:4-14 CSB

So often Jeremiah 29:11 is plucked out of the pages of Scripture and we happily declare that God plans to give us hope and a future. While this is true, have you ever been guilty of assuming that God’s hope and plan were synonymous with your immediate blessing and comfort? Hope feels good when it’s wrapped in the package of our own plans and expectations.

But God knows the plans HE has for us. And often those plans are nothing like we expect. 

When we read Jeremiah 29 as a whole, we see the important context: God’s people have been relocated from their home in Jerusalem to the foreign city of Babylon. This is not where they want to be. Losing their homeland, their freedoms, their culture, and everything known probably felt like the opposite of hope. They likely felt discouraged, overwhelmed, lost, and hopeless. Have you ever felt like that?

This is the backdrop for God reassuring His people that He still has a plan, that He is still in control.

Isn’t it interesting that God’s plan to send a Savior to the world also unfolded in a way that no one expected? The promised Messiah was expected to come as a mighty military leader ready to overthrow the Roman government — not as a baby swaddled in a manger, or as a carpenter turned radical preacher.

But here’s what God has been trying to teach His people throughout all generations: His ways are higher. His ways are full of true hope!

Our circumstances may not feel good or make sense in the moment, but we can trust God. He is the promise of hope we can hang on to.

Today marks the fourth and final Sunday in the season of Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas Day.  Thank you for joining us here at (in)courage each weekend in December as we’ve counted down to Christmas together.

For daily Advent devotions, visit DaySpring.com — where you’ll find (in)courage stories each day this month! Sign up here to receive one each day via email in December.

Make the season bright by reflecting on the gifts and promises from God. Amid the fullness of the season, make space to quiet your heart and listen for His.

When Your Heart Doesn’t Feel Light + A Holiday Recipe

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I wrapped my arms around my almost-three-year-old nephew’s small body. His puffy blue coat made it hard to hold on, so I constricted my arms tighter.

“Where we goin’, Liza?” Noah asked.

“We’re going on a sleigh ride. You know, like in Jingle Bells?” I started to sing softly. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh—“

“Hey!” he sang.

I laughed. “Exactly. We’re just like Jingle Bells.”

We sat on the sleigh, which was hardly a sleigh at all (instead, it was more of an open tractor bed), and looked out at the night surrounding us. It was our community tree lighting. There was hot chocolate, roasting marshmallows by an open fire, Santa visits, and live Christmas songs. But the most exciting part of the night was, by far and away, the sleigh ride.

Two large horses were hooked to the front of the sleigh. Bells tinkered whenever they shook their manes.

“Woah,” Noah murmured softly. “Those are awesome horses.”

The horses began to walk forward, and the sleigh took off with a slight jolt. Noah grabbed onto my legs, but after a few moments, he relaxed. Even in the dark, I could see the way his eyes lit up. Everything he saw — every Christmas light, every outline of a reindeer on someone’s back porch — he pointed to, letting out a delightful gasp.

“Are you having fun?” I asked.

“This is fun!” he said. “This is really, really, really fun!”

In three-year-old language, that was his way of explaining his pure, unadulterated exuberance. As I held him on my lap, I watched the way he pointed to each thing he saw. He sees more than I can. Or maybe he’s just better at noticing.

We got off the sleigh, and as we walked, I listened to the way people sang Jingle Bells and Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. You could almost feel the community’s Christmas spirit in a tangible way. And yet even while I felt deep gratitude for seeing the delight in my nephew’s eyes, I also felt a clash of sorrow amidst the palpable joy.

I could hear Judy Garland’s voice in my head, singing:

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight

But the truth is, my heart isn’t light. My troubles aren’t out of sight. Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean everything is merry. I know you know this, too. I know your heart may be feeling just as heavy as mine. It often feels that in the gleam of the Christmas lights our hardships seem harder and our grief heavier.

And yet, God sees us exactly as we are.

In this season, when my heart feels weary and worn down with grief, when I become overwhelmed by how hard these mid-December days can be, I choose to remember who God is.

Emmanuel. God with us.

He is coming, but more than that, He is here. He dwells among us right now — this miracle of Christmas, of Christ coming to dwell with us, is not something to celebrate merely during Advent but every single day of the year.

He has not forgotten you. He is beside you even now — especially now.

Noah and I went on the sleigh ride again and again that night. My heart started to feel lighter the longer I stared at him and his almost three-year-old wide-eyed wonder. My grief didn’t fade, but something shifted within me.

I could feel room for both joy and grief in my heart. Not one or the other, but room for both.

But more than that, I could feel the presence of Emmanuel, God with us.

Devotion by Aliza Latta from the (in)courage archives.

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And now, a new holiday recipe for you!

The most wonderful time of the year is here, and thanks to Emmanuel, we have the best reason of all to celebrate with friends and family. We’ve got a perfect addition to your cookie exchange platters! Nancy C.’s Graham Cracker Toffee is beautiful, delicious, and perfect for a Christmas gathering or just an after-dinner treat for your family. Scroll down for the recipe and to download a FREE printable recipe card!

Graham Cracker Toffee

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 15 minutes
Bake Time: 8 minutes
Makes 6-8 servings.

INGREDIENTS:

  • 14 full-size graham crackers
  • 1 cup (2 sticks) salted butter
  • 1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
  • 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
  • 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1/4 cup chopped pecans
  • 1/4 cup toffee bits
  • Optional: 1 to 2 Tbsp. holiday sprinkles

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Preheat oven to 350˚F. Line a 10×15” rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
  2. Place graham crackers in a single layer, laying flat, over the entire baking sheet.
  3. In medium-size saucepan, combine brown sugar and butter over medium heat and bring to a boil. Boil for 3 1/2 to 4 minutes, stirring constantly as mixture thickens.
  4. Remove from heat, stir in the vanilla extract, and immediately pour mixture over the graham crackers; spread mixture evenly to cover the crackers completely.
  5. Bake at 350˚F for 7 to 8 minutes, until edges are bubbly. Remove from oven and sprinkle evenly with semi-sweet chocolate chips. Let sit for 4-5 minutes, giving the chocolate time to melt, then spread chocolate evenly over the crackers. Sprinkle with chopped pecans and toffee bits. Add holiday sprinkles too, if desired.
  6. Cool completely until chocolate sets, about 1-2 hours, then break into pieces. To cool the chocolate more quickly, put the pan of toffee in your refrigerator for 30-60 minutes.

To create the beautiful look that Nancy created here, use the NEW Christmas Together popcorn bowl. Then share the toffee with family and friends, add to a cookie platter, or just swipe a piece when you’re in the kitchen! Find the bowl and other serving pieces from the full Mary & Martha collection — available at DaySpring.com.

And tell us – what’s your favorite treat to nibble on from a Christmas cookie swap?

A Message for the Darkest Day of the Year

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A few years ago, when my dad was really sick, I started thinking about Joseph. Not the one with the colorful coat in Genesis, but the one standing beside a feeding trough in Bethlehem, the one who raised Jesus as his own, the one who very likely died between the cradle and the cross.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke tell the story of Jesus speaking to the crowds when His mother and brothers show up and ask to talk with Him; but there’s no mention of Joseph. At the cross, Mary kneels brokenhearted with grief. And I have to believe Joseph would have been there if he were still alive, weeping beside his wife with his son and Savior before him. But once again, there’s no mention of Joseph. Instead, protecting and providing for her to the very end, Jesus tells the disciple John to regard Mary as his own mother from that day on.

Joseph’s death isn’t included in Scripture, but I found comfort in knowing that Jesus understands loss on a deeply human level. Isaiah 53:3 calls Him a man of sorrows, and so yes, He must be familiar with grief.

We’ve all experienced loss in some way this year. Jobs, income, hope, relationships, dreams, health, the life of a loved one. The list goes on and on. But I’m sitting here today, staring at the small figurine of Joseph in my nativity set, thinking about the hope of tomorrow.

That isn’t a metaphor.

December 21st, the winter solstice, is the darkest day of the entire year in the Northern Hemisphere.

The night will stretch as far as it can go tomorrow. Daylight will fade quickly and darkness will settle in like a weighted blanket wrapping around the world. But the boundary line has been drawn: this far and no further.

Right when we find ourselves saying, “I can’t seem to catch a break or catch my breath. The weight of waiting is just too much. The waves just keep coming, the storm is still raging, and I’m desperate for hope, for dawn, for new life and answered prayers.” Right then, the longest of nights meets the shortest of days.

It’s a gift tucked into the deepest dark — a time limit and a guarantee. Yes, the night will seem to swallow everything in a matter of hours… but we’re inching toward the promise. And in His kindness, God saw fit to enter the dark and start the clock.

For now, loss lingers and hearts break and grief overwhelms. Loved ones walk away or pass away, dreams disappear, the weight of waiting is nearly too much, and hope can feel like a risk. But the God-man who said “Come to Me, all you who are weary” is the same baby who came for us. Long before we turned toward Him, He came and made a way for us, protecting and providing until we’re finally, forever Home.

We might be limping toward the end of the year, but we’re also one day closer, one step closer, and the beautifully true thing is that we can show up as we are. Jesus didn’t say “Come to Me, all you who have it together.” It was never “Come to Me after you’ve done XYZ and achieved 123.” It’s simply — come. Weak, weary, grieving, confused, heartbroken, angry, exhausted, doubting. As you are, however you are, come and find that Home has already come for you.⁣

Next week we’ll celebrate the Light of the world that pierced the night, the One who still wakes the day and paints the sky, the One who couldn’t stand to do anything other than come closer, closer, closer.

First, for just a tick-tock of time, the night will have its moment. But it’s only that, a wildly brief moment within eternity, and the man of sorrows is familiar with the shadows. There is no darkness too dark and no moment too much for Him, and so we really can dare to sing “joy to the world” in a long, silent night, declaring with the Psalmist:

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. I will praise the Lord, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.”
Psalm 16:6-8 NIV

One day, the day will go on forever. One day, night will be no more (Revelation 22:5).

The clock is ticking. Closer, closer, closer. Always, Light is pushing back the dark.

But tomorrow? Tomorrow the earth joins in, a declaration spread across creation:

From here on out, the night gets shorter.
From here on out, it only gets brighter.
No matter how deep the darkness, Hope has something to say.
Even now, dawn is on the way.

For more encouragement in the midst of loss that lingers or the heaviness of a dark night, pick up a copy of Kaitlyn’s book. Even If Not will help you shift from the suspicion that God isn’t kind or present to the truth found in Scripture: on every single page of the story, He is with us and working all things for good.

Listen to daily devotions from (in)courage like this one wherever you stream podcasts!

Turns Out, the Night in “O Holy Night” Wasn’t Even That Holy

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A few weeks ago, I was preparing an Advent-themed email. In the email, I’d landed on sharing about the classic Christmas carol “O Holy Night” and quoting that one famous line:

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

As I prepared my email, I began pondering the history of this song which, turns out, was first written as a poem. A poet-writer myself, I was deeply intrigued and let my mind wander on the origin story of this poem.

The poem, originally titled “Minuit, Chrétiens” or “Midnight, Christians” was written by Placide Cappeau, a French poet and wine merchant who, surprisingly, was an atheist. I read that in 1843, Cappeau was tasked by a priest in Roquemaure, France to write a Christmas poem in honor of celebrating renovations within their small-town church.

Suddenly, in the middle of preparing my email, this song that I’d always taken at face value was now the most fascinating discovery. How could someone who didn’t believe in God pen such a poignant poem-turned-hymn and declare the divinity of Jesus to countless millions? How could Cappeau conjure words to proclaim the power of that night when Jesus — swaddled in all humility and humanity — came into the world?

I began to dig a little deeper into the rabbit hole of “O Holy Night” and, in reading, I learned that Cappeau eventually showed his poem to French composer Adolphe Adam. Not too long after this encounter, Adam set music to the poem, and Cappeau took this poem-turned-hymn back to Roquemaure, where, in 1847, it was first performed at a midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.

In 1855, the song was translated into English by minister and music critic John Sullivan Dwight. Dwight considered the original French lyrics of “Minuit, Chrétiens,” which, in English would be:

Midnight, Christians, it’s the solemn hour,
When God-man descended to us
To erase the stain of original sin
And to end the wrath of His Father.
The entire world thrills with hope
On this night that gives it a Savior.

Then, in his translation from French to English, Dwight rendered the lyrics we’ve come to know and cherish today:

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth;
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
‘Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

In every iteration, the song “O Holy Night” is stitched through with the sacred themes and tellings of Christmas. It paints a soul-arresting scene of the night of Jesus’ birth, and it is musically wrought with melodic highs and lows that resonate with the emotional feelings of Christmastime. Stunning and stirring, “O Holy Night” is now one of the most beloved Christmas songs, with recordings and renditions by Josh Groban, Celine Dion, Lauren Daigle, Gladys Knight, Nat King Cole, and the queen of Christmas herself — Mariah Carey.

What’s interesting to me, however, is not merely the history of “O Holy Night,” but the irony of it. Anyone (atheist, poet, priest, or not) who opens to the story of Jesus’ birth in Luke 2:1-20 can clearly see that the night so famously caroled about wasn’t even that holy. There was nothing magnificent or mighty or sacred or set apart about the night when baby Jesus was born in that messy manager.

At the time of Jesus’ birth, Caesar Augustus issued a decree for a census. This meant that “everyone went to their own town to register” (Luke 2:1-3 NIV), and this is precisely what brought Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem. With everyone traveling for the census, Bethlehem was bustling and busy. Hence, the reason there was no room in the inn.

Hmm! Imagine that? The first Christmas wasn’t quiet or calm. Not at all that much different from the Christmas we’ve come to celebrate today. . . Indeed, the first Christmas was neither hushed nor seemingly holy. The world then (and still now) was fraught with war and work and woes on every side.

As I prepared my Advent email, I pondered what this means for our humble, less-than-holy human lives today. Then my heart remembered this precious truth:

It is not the night of Jesus’ birth we glorify, it is only and ever the name of Jesus we glorify.

At Christmastime, and at all times, we believe and bear witness to the truth that Jesus makes glorious the impossible gloom. Through song and deed, we declare that Jesus makes miraculous the mundane and saves the wretched sinner. We repeat and repeat the sounding joy — that Jesus restores that which is beyond repair and makes divine even the darkest night.

This season, let the lyrics of “O Holy Night” (or your favorite Christmas song) prompt you to ponder the powerful One who presides over all nature, all names, and all nights. In all our singing, working, gifting, parenting, cooking, and, yes, even in our email sending, may we honor and extol the only One who is worthy of our wonder and our worship.

Friends, what’s your favorite Christmas song? Comment below and share why — I’d love to hear from you!

Letting Go of the Perfect Christmas

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This time of year crackles with anticipation, like logs tossed into the fireplace. While the season glows with warmth and hope, it can also feel heavy with unmet expectations.

“It has been too long!” we said, waving to each other’s pixelated video screens as we started to talk over each other, eager to reconnect. Through the miracle of modern Internet, we caught up on work woes, family foibles, and everything else we could squeeze into our hour-long chat. 

“Okay, so tell me, really, how are you?” I asked her, washing down my supplements with a soda because, honestly, that was how I was doing.

My friend was talking from a parking lot, where she had squirreled away time in her car. She leaned into the screen.

“Well, I cried before our family photos, if that gives you any indication,” she offered, amusement and exhaustion in her voice.

I replied with a knowing laugh.

“It’s not family pictures unless someone cries.”

She smiled, but we understood the deeper truth hiding in our shared humor. This season — touted as the most wonderful time of the year — often comes with heaps of expectations. And sometimes a few tears.

‘Tis the season of Christmas cards and end-of-year recaps. (A tradition I adore, by the way.) In our digital world, I delight in sending and receiving tangible reminders that we are connected and cared for. I love reflecting on the year as I add handwritten notes to envelopes and little flourishes to each card I address. It’s a festive practice that brings me almost as much joy as stuffing an excessive amount of mini marshmallows into my cocoa.

But here’s the thing: No one sees the tears behind the shiny, put-together photographs.

We share our vacations, milestones, and biggest wins from the year. And there’s nothing wrong with sharing the good in our lives — joy worth celebrating! But our winning write-ups don’t include the sleepless nights, the dreams we had to let go of, or the hurts hidden inside our weary hearts.

When another glossy photo lands in my mailbox, it’s easy to assume the sender’s life is as perfect as the card itself. It’s easy to get trapped in a snowbank of comparison, believing I’m the only one sitting in the gap between how I wish things were and how they are.

As I hang our Christmas cards on our door frame, I’m not immune to envy and jealousy that stick to me like the tape I use to hang the cards. But I have to remind myself that our lives are more than a few curated highlights.

Recently, two friends told me about amazing overseas vacations. “You must have had an incredible time!” I said, but I was really thinking, It must be nice to travel like that. Both confided that their trips weren’t quite as perfect as the pictures made them look. From the outside, you couldn’t see the arguing spouses or the son stuck in the hotel room with food poisoning.

The truth is, this sparkling season has a shadow side. Sorrow, comparison, and exhaustion often linger at the edges of our joy, casting darkness over the twinkle lights that frame the windows.

For many of us, Advent carries a weight, like your snow-soaked mittens do after a snowball fight — heavy and cold and clinging no matter how hard you try to shake them off. Maybe your heart weighs heavy with the loss of a loved one, strained relationships, or unmet expectations.

If you’re scrolling your social media this holiday season and feel the pangs of comparison, you’re not alone. I’ve been taking a break from the glow of instant photos and the steady stream of updates. It’s been freeing — not striving to share the perfect post but living into each moment God has brought me into.

This pause has reminded me that life doesn’t need to be staged to be sacred.

Advent is a counter-narrative to perfectionism. Year after year, we set aside time to anticipate when Love came down, entered our mess, and changed the world forever. When we remember this is our truest reality, we can open our waiting hearts to welcome a God who enters into the imperfections of our real lives. We can loosen our grip on the pressure we feel about putting on a polished show.

Jesus wasn’t born in a spotless palace. He arrived in the mess of a manger. His arrival reminds us that our lives don’t have to be picture-perfect for Him to meet us there.

What if this Advent we prepared room in our hearts for the glory of presence instead of the empty chase of perfection? What if we stopped striving to make everything just right and instead allowed ourselves to rest in the hope that’s already here?

While we often feel the need to have the stockings hung and the cookies baked, Advent invites us to hang up our hustling and kick our feet up by the fire. It’s a time of waiting for Christ to come into the messiness of our lives, just as He did so many years ago.

No year-end highlights were written on papyrus or birth announcements sealed with a kiss from Mary and Joseph. Yet the glory of God broke through heaven and earth in a miracle that changed the world forever.

This is the hope of Advent: Immanuel — God with us. Right here. Right now. In our real, uncurated, unstaged lives.

The pursuit of a perfect life will always leave us longing for more. No matter what’s printed on a Christmas card or posted on social media, you only see a glimmer of real life. We all carry unseen hurts and tender disappointments, stories that rarely make it into what we share with others.

But here’s the good news: The best story — the truest story — reminds us that the Maker of Heaven and Earth bent time to be near us, to dwell with us, to bring light into the dark corners of our lives. Jesus is the message from our God, who doesn’t require perfection but longs to meet us in the mess. The miracle of Advent invites us to let go of striving and be held by the One who catches every tear, knows every imperfect part we try to hide, and calls us beloved.

What would it look like for you to rest in this truth? To dwell in the presence of the One who was born into chaos yet chose to stay in perfect love? What would it mean to notice soft snowflakes dancing under a streetlamp, to truly see the people and places before you, to accept your imperfect life as the sacred gift it was always meant to be?

As you place stamps on envelopes and wait for your mail carrier to deliver holiday cheer, may you find peace, not in polished perfection, but in the presence of the One who came to light your way and bring hope to the world.

 

Listen to daily devotions on the (in)courage podcast!

The Quiet Quest

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There are pains and aches and struggles that can be named. We can put our finger on them and openly talk about them. We can post about them on social media and rally a group to pray or intervene. Things like,

I’m moving to a new town and I need prayer.
I’ve lost a parent and need comfort.
I’ve been sick for a week and need someone to bring me soup.

These are moments when the body of Believers shines and we can rally together like the family we are, openly and without reservation. People check in and we start group texts and give updates. It’s a beautiful thing, right?

I’ve received meals and cards and encouragement during hard times in the past. I have felt upheld by those in my small group or neighborhood or workplace. It makes an already hard situation feel a bit more bearable.

But what do we do when we simply cannot openly share what we’re dealing with?

I’m not talking about hiding something secret like a sinful habit or refusing to open up about something that should be freely shared for the sake of accountability. No, it’s not about self-preservation as much as it is about preserving someone else’s story.

I want to be clear: if you’re staying silent about something and it jeopardizes your safety, you should not stay silent. But if you’re keeping silent because you just aren’t sure where to start or the story isn’t quite yours to tell, you might be on what I call a Quiet Quest.

Sometimes, there are stories unfolding that we are not at the center of but are directly impacted by. Sometimes, to ask for prayer, we have to stay vague to protect the dignity or privacy of someone we love. Perhaps you find yourself walking through something that is taking effort and energy, is exhausting or heartbreaking, but very few people are aware of it because that’s simply the way it has to be for a while.

Perhaps a loved one is struggling with mental illness or grief that they do not know how to express, and it weighs heavily on your mind and heart every single day. But there are unknowns. There are limitations. It can’t be shared broadly out of respect.

This is a challenging place to be because, as Christians, we are called to community. And what is community, if not sharing our burdens?

Here’s the thing: we are certainly called to invite others into our story, but there are moments when we need to guard how many people know the details of a specific situation. And while that can be good and right and healthy, can I be honest? It can be lonely.

The Quiet Quest is a place that often feels like we’re totally on our own. There’s a lot of watching and waiting and wondering. It can seem that we’re totally alone — the first and only one to experience this journey.

You don’t hear stories from Quiet Quests much, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen. In fact, they’re happening a lot more than we may realize. Your neighbor may be carrying the burden or losing a friend to an addiction. Your professor might have gotten a terrible diagnosis and doesn’t know how to share the news. The woman sitting beside you at the doctor’s office might have gotten a call that her sister was just checked in to an in-patient mental healthcare center.

Or perhaps, friend, it’s you. Perhaps you are the one with a diagnosis or a phone call or a front-row seat to someone’s addiction. Perhaps you’re on a Quiet Quest you never chose and you feel unseen or unheard, but it’s blindingly difficult and louder than anyone else can imagine. If that’s the case? I’m so sorry. I know you can’t speak about everything running through your mind, and you’re up at night and you’re restless. I know you must feel so overwhelmed, and I also know I can’t actually write anything to fix it or take it away.

But what I can offer you on a random Tuesday is this: there is a companion who walks beside you and has no intention of leaving you in the dark. And because He’s omniscient — all-knowing — there’s no pressure to explain yourself or your situation to Him.

Scripture reminds us to cast our anxiety on Jesus because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7).

Jesus is ever-present, filling in every blank and understanding every subtle subplot. So reach out to your closest, trusted people and keep them posted on how to pray, but know this:

You are held by a Savior who will not miss out on loving you.

You are seen by a kind and all-powerful God who deeply desires redemption for you and your loved ones. And your Quiet Quest is not too quiet for Him to hear and come running.