Look to the One Who Lifts Your Head

Look to the One Who Lifts Your Head

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My husband and I really enjoy gardening together. I know my love of flowers has been passed down through the generations in my family. My parents have amazing garden beds. My grandma, now in her mid-eighties, still has a beautiful garden, though not the size it once was. So, usually, they’re the ones teaching us about new plants, and we’re the ones who enjoy getting transplants from them to add to our flower beds.

But recently, we were the ones who were able to introduce them to a gorgeous new plant they didn’t know about. It has the most exquisite flowers, called hellebores. Their common name is “winter rose” or “Lenten rose” because the blooms appear very early in the year, around the time of Lent.

They are the earliest flower to bloom in our yard and last for several months, with the added bonus of evergreen foliage. This year, they were actually blooming in the snow! They have quickly become one of my favorites in the garden, even though picking favorites is so hard. If you haven’t seen them before, you have to look them up. Trust me, you will be awed!

There is only one thing about these sweet flowers though that makes them really quite different: They are gently nodding beauties. Their flower heads actually face downward, and their true, full beauty can’t be completely appreciated unless you lift them up.

We were in the garden the other day, and I gently lifted each smokey pink flower growing on a dark purple stem to enjoy them. I was thinking about how stunning these beauties were, though they almost seemed sad with their distinctive nodding blooms, and it reminded me of how many times I’ve felt just like those sad, bowed down heads.

I am sure many of us have felt that way or might be feeling like that now. Our heads hanging low by the burdens we carry, by the shame we feel, by all the challenges we battle. Worry consumes us, and it takes a toll. Struggles overcome us, and it takes a toll. Loneliness fills us, and it takes a toll. It all seems just too heavy to bear. We feel like the weight of the world is on our shoulders, and we are bent down under that weight.

But God.

In the darkness, He is a shield about us. In our weakness and brokenness, He is the lifter of our heads. At all times, God is our glory.

Just as I lifted those hanging flowers to admire them, what a beautiful image of our loving Father lifting our heads in the midst of struggles, darkness, and sadness in life and admiring us. Can you picture it now?

He takes your lowered head and gently raises your chin. With tears of frustration or shame or sorrow or brokenness, you meet His loving eyes. You just know, He sees you. He sees your heart. You know He is your protection, your shield, your strength. You know His love for you is beyond comprehension.

None of us have answers as to why we have such darkness in the world and in our own lives. We don’t understand why there are times when troubles seem endless. We don’t have explanations for all the storms, but we do know the One who understands and stands by us. He protects us and fights for us.

But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.
Psalm 3:3 (ESV)

The One who holds our days — look to Him, call on Him, trust Him. The Lord will lift your head.

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay Today

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I planted my heels firmly into the ground and with both my hands and my voice shaking, read a prayer to close my grandfather’s funeral service.

The words about worry, fear, and loss were written a month into sheltering-in-place, and as strange as it might seem, I prayed over that prayer before I wrote it out. With so much up in the air, with losses growing and normal disappearing, I asked God to guide my hands as I typed, to speak through the pixels of a computer screen, and to bring comfort no matter what the world looked like when it was published a few weeks later.

I couldn’t have known that before the words were shared online, they would be read in a cemetery. With the wind blowing and tears falling and God watching, I held the prayer in my hands, printed on a folded piece of paper, and gave the words back to the One who always knew.⁣

My black dress is packed in a carry-on again.

Eleven months have passed and by the time you read this article, my grandmother will be Home finally and forever. Grief and gratitude are holding hands once again, mixed together in a way that simply can’t be separated.

When I reflect on the last year and a half, I’m struck by how much we’ve individually and collectively grieved. The details differ, but loss colors every single one of our stories.

A few months ago, I made a permission slip for a friend experiencing a big change. Before writing in her name, I posted it on Instagram. The “permission to be sad” note is one of my most shared posts — ever — which tells me there are so very many of us learning to hold hope and loss together these days.

And yet the more I write about this tension, the more replies I receive asking me to choose joy and move on or urging me not to lose my faith. By and large, we are a culture that is uncomfortable with grief — our own as well as the grief of another. I get it, grief is messy. But grief and hope are not mutually exclusive. One does not cancel the other out.

In fact, when I think of those who have walked through difficult times with hope instead of pretending all was okay, it bolsters my faith. Because how else can we say that, but Jesus? There’s something strikingly beautiful and outrageously compelling in someone who says “I’m not okay right now, but I will be, and God is nothing less than faithful.”

Please hear me: my heart is not to ignore or diminish happy moments or answered prayers. Yes, joy is our birthright, but let’s not miss it: Jesus knew resurrection was literally minutes away, and yet He still wept with His friends. He knew the page would turn, that loss would never have the last word, but He was present in the pain.

Perhaps when we’re so busy being “fine” as we try to hold it all together, we steal a little bit of glory from the Man of Sorrows who is literally holding us together.

Friend, please don’t tie a bow on brokenness and call it a day. Hurt is not something to hurry through and grief is not something you need to get over. You don’t need to sweep sorrow under the rug or rush to find beauty in the broken places. You can be sad without shame or a timetable.

It’s okay to not be okay right now. It’s okay to acknowledge what was or wasn’t or will never be, to say that yes, seasons come and seasons go and this will not last forever, but for now the storm is still raging.

Our comfort doesn’t come from the promise of calm waters but from the promised presence of the One who rides it out with us.

Jesus is no stranger to storms, and though He could, He doesn’t always walk on the waves. Sometimes He says, “Peace, be still” to the waters that rise and sometimes He says those very words to our overwhelmed hearts. Jesus never shows up with a tidy bow to rush us through to the other side, never dismisses our pain by saying, “Just choose joy,” never grows weary of how long we’ve struggled to stay afloat.

No, Jesus just gets in the boat.

One day, there’ll be no need for a black dress. One day, every grave will be a garden. One day, we’ll build altars in the ruins as we sing songs of praise to the God who redeems and restores all, the One who even now is making all things new. But for now, let’s just pass the tissues. Let’s learn to say, “I’m not okay right now, but I will be, and God is nothing less than faithful.”

You don’t have to hold it together. There is One who is holding You, who comes close and stays with and will carry you through. Our friend Jesus is familiar with waves.

You Are Not Falling Behind

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One stormy spring day, I found myself on the skinny dirt road that borders the “back 80” field of our farm. It was another rainy day, on top of a series of rainy days, and because of the puddles, my husband — and farmers all across the Midwest — couldn’t get into the fields to plant. The unrelenting storms brought blow after blow to so many of us in the agricultural industry, who are tasked with feeding the world.

Everything was falling way behind.

As I was driving alongside our wet and crop-less fields, something important hit me. I have so often felt the way that field looked: with no growth evident. Behind.

At key points in my life, I’ve felt so far behind — in my career as an author, as a mom, a farm wife, and even in my spirituality. My fear of falling behind has been a reason for my rushed existence. It’s why I felt like I had to be so insanely productive all the time, as if life were a constant game of catch-up to meet milestones.

Ironically, for me, the strongest pressure to hustle came when I started writing books about Jesus. I say this is ironic because nothing Jesus ever said communicated an ethic of hurrying and hustling.

This isn’t something we authors talk much about publicly, but there’s an expectation of growth in the publishing industry. Growth in sales, influence, and something called “platform,” which is an indication of how many people follow you on social media. If you have a decent-sized platform, it shows that you have an audience who already likes you. This is not a criticism of the publishing industry. Publishers have to pay to keep the lights on, and they need some assurance of sales.

At the time when my career took off, I was a “small-platform author.” Sometimes I thought I had snuck in the back door when no one was looking. (There’s a name for this: imposter syndrome. It’s usually accompanied by an author curling into a fetal position and rocking back and forth in the corner between writing sessions. Yes, I’m a ball of positivity while writing books.)

As a new author, hustle felt like the only option. Yet a question began to emerge: Do I really want a fast life that rubs me raw?

And it was. Life was rubbing me raw — physically, mentally, spiritually. I asked myself, In the rush to become a “somebody,” have I forgotten that I already am?

All systems pointed to one conclusion: I had to undo and unlearn all of the dangerous “go-big-or-go-home,” girl-boss messages that I’d believed my whole life.

And so I embraced a new and life-changing philosophy that I call Growing Slow.

And this is one of the surprising discoveries I made: We are actually not falling behind.

Because the truth is, there are no set milestones for where we are supposed to be at any given point in life. Not for when you get married — or even if you get married. Not for when you have kids  —or even if you have them. Not for when you earn a certain salary or master a certain set of tasks.

Sometimes, you look around at everyone else’s progress and feel like you’re a failure who can’t hit milestones.

Their dreams are coming true.
Their kids are making the honor roll.
Their marriages are fruitful and fun.
Their businesses are thriving.

Deep inside, you wonder if you’re disappointing God.

Friend, you are not a disappointment, I promise you. If you saw your progress the way God does, you’d never doubt for a moment that you’re making a difference.

We don’t need more memes or motivational speakers to sell us a way to move ahead. We need permission to be where we are.

Did you know you are allowed to go your own pace? You are allowed to shut down the computer at five o’clock. You are allowed to take the time you need to figure things out. There’s no such thing as an overnight success, and your life will not be ruined if you grow slow.

Look around you: there is growth in your fields, inching heavenward, not with brute force but by the will of the Divine Farmer who makes all things beautiful in their time (Ecclesiastes 3:11). A corn plant never compares itself to the one beside it. It never fights the clock or doubts the harvest will come. In that back 80, Scott eventually planted millions of corn seeds. In time, each plant did all of the miraculous things a corn plant does until it reaches full maturity.

“ . . . at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9).

God promises that the harvest is coming — not just for everyone else but for you too. In His way. In His timing.

Friend, you are not falling behind.

Growing Slow: Lessons on Un-Hurrying Your Heart from An Accidental Farm Girl charts a path out of the pressures of bigger, harder, faster, and into a restful yet active — and far more satisfying — way of living. Order today and get $47 worth of freebies, including six Bible study videos, the first session of the Bible study workbook, and the Growing Slow Guided Journal and Growth Tracker.

And to celebrate, we are giving away FIVE copies of Jennifer’s book, Growing Slow!*

To enter, tell us in the comments a way you’ve experienced the beauty of slowing down, and we’ll choose five lucky winners!

Then tune in tomorrow, May 12th, at 11:00 am CST on Facebook for a conversation with Jennifer and Becky Keife as they discuss this beautiful new book and Bible study.

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and ends 11:59 pm CST on May 14, 2021. 

Let’s Face It Head On

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“I’m sick of always feeling like my kids don’t cut it. We need to create a ‘Let’s Face It Book’ app where we forget all the special moments and celebrations and only post the hard truths of parenting that are happening behind the scenes. We need to ‘Face It’ head on,” one of my besties declared.

Our friend group chuckled at this ingenious idea because, unfortunately, misery loves company. Brainstorm funny marketing strategies, drop a few bombshells, allow for anonymous posting, and it would be an instant hit. Yet behind our combined nervous laughter, we all felt the painful sucker punch as our precious sister friend shared deep heartache behind her son’s recent choices. For months, she held those decisions in secret as Satan attempted to crush her with false judgement and shame. He was having a heyday assuring her she was the only one in the struggle. He’s the master at that.

Let’s face it: factually, we know that often social media only shows what the person posts — the highlight reels, the carefully curated moments. Here at (in)courage, with our mission to remind each other that in our un-fine moments and ordinary days we can become women of courage, we still constantly struggle to solidify that truth in our minds and hearts. Couple that with friends or influencers who attempt to draw us into their authentic self by showing us a filtered “messy moment,” and often it’s still an edited reality that doesn’t help chip away at the relentless rhetoric the enemy slings.

(Here’s where we pretend you’re sitting around the table with my discipleship group and I’m going to shoot straight. I’m a hand talker, so imagine that too.)

I’m sick and tired of falling into his cyclical trap, aren’t you? There’s no glossing this over. I’m frustrated at myself when I give Satan a tiny corner of my consciousness and he bulldozes in like he has some say in my life. He absolutely does not, my friends. I’ve heard it called “stinking thinking.” How dare we give the enemy an inch when we have the indwelling, life-giving, enemy-crushing, abundant freedom that comes the moment we name Jesus as Lord. Yes, the Savior of the world, who kicks Satan to the curb when we shout the name of Jesus, desires to gift us with that same power. Yes, the same Spirit, the same power, that raised Jesus from the dead is alive in us (Romans 8:11). Why aren’t we shouting this truth from the rooftops?

I know, I know. It’s much easier to read (or type) this than actually put it into practice.

As I’ve camped in 1 Peter, a tiny phrase stopped me in my tracks. 1 Peter 1:13a says, “Therefore, with your minds ready for action . . . ” Diving into the original Greek root here tells us that the phrase is a continuous active verb. This is not a one-and-done obligation but a commitment to stay alert while consistently preparing our minds for a challenging journey or warfare. Are we rooted in the truth of Scripture? Are we battle ready?

Since many of us are still experiencing a painful season of isolation and loneliness, it’s more critical now than ever to grab at least one other person to help us fight for truth and ready our minds in the coming days.

Some have gone nearly a year without any significant gatherings, so our perception of everyone’s journey through the pandemic season has been shaped by social media, not Scripture. It appears we’ve all thrived with long nature walks by quiet streams, picnics on our family room floors, and seamless home renovations.

Yet mix in the reality that we can’t see online — crying children eaten by mosquitos, selfish big brother hitting siblings because he demands the picnic blanket closest to the TV, and finally, the exhausted partners losing all patience because this isn’t the Fixer Upper episode we assumed when we started — and we chuckle at these hidden truths.

But for many of us, like my “Let’s Face It Book” friend, the reality is much more challenging. When she shared her news, our hearts broke with her. We couldn’t tie things up in a neat little bow with trite retorts and quick-witted wisdom. So, we listened. We lamented. And we brought light to the dark by naming the truth of God’s Word.

In those tense times that will never make social media, we need accountability partners that will link arms with us and point us to the cross; faithful friends who will remind us of Spurgeon’s words, “There are many sorts of broken hearts, and Christ is good at healing them all”; and mentors further along in their spiritual journey to guide us and humbly provide tough love if needed.

Do you have someone like that in your life to provide encouragement, accountability, and a listening ear? To remind you that you’re not alone? To push back when you might be in error? Can you be that person for someone else?

Prioritize that and join me as I’ve committed my 2021 to deepening relationships, establishing necessary accountability in my marriage, parenting, and spiritual walk, and pursuing continued connection through biblical community.

This is a time commitment, but it’s so worth the investment. Let’s ready our minds for action and let’s face it together.

The Push and Pull of Mothering

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I have four kids! It’s an exclamation point because my youngest is still so new. Sometimes it just catches me off guard that these four little people are mine, that I get to raise these four siblings.

My husband and I didn’t know if we’d be able to have kids at all. It took three years of testing and trying and poking and prodding, ending in a traumatic miscarriage before we had our Sam. I then had another painful loss, followed by another waiting period before Josie. Next, our Clara was a straight up surprise gift, born just fifteen months after her sister. We waited for five years then, letting my body take a breather after it had been stretched and torn and ripped and leaky through five pregnancies. And after five years, my “just one more” prayers became Theo, our family’s exclamation point.

Siblings.

They’re so cute and funny and smart, and also sassy and screamy and really good at throwing a fit. We love being together, and we’re also so sick of each other after a thousand months of being home non-stop, working and distance learning and only recently beginning to see family and friends. I love them and want to squish their faces and also want one whole day alone by myself.

Sometimes I get so mad that I laugh. Almost every night I’m exhausted, but I stay up too late on purpose because it’s the only time the house is quiet and my brain can complete a sentence. I dream of the future yet also can’t really see beyond bedtime.

And the baby we await and celebrate at Christmas was also a king — holy and human. We wait to remember His birth each year, and we wait for His return all the time. We both seek, and we are found.

I know the push and pull of mothering, of wanting to mother, of craving for silence even amidst the blessing. There is nothing easy about any of it, and everything seems contradictory — a both/and kind of living.

I read once that a goldfish will grow to fit the space it inhabits. If it’s a pond, the goldfish will swell massive. If it’s a bedroom bowl, the goldfish will stay small.

And so it is with a mothering heart — growing to accommodate more, cracking and shrinking through pain and longing, spanning seasons and decades and long days and short years.

This day is a complex one full of many emotions and experiences. Know that at (in)courage, we are praying for each of you today as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what it means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, and nurtures those who become part of the next generation is doing an amazing work and is to be celebrated today.

Happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.

I’m grateful that here at (in)courage, we have some beautiful gifts and resources for and about moms of all kinds. Two of my favorites are these:

A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom is full of reflections of God’s heart. Featuring unique and diverse stories from the (in)courage community, A Mother’s Love offers heartfelt encouragement to all kinds of moms, whether they’re a mother in a traditional sense, a spiritual mother, or a mother-like figure who breaks the mold. This book is sure to help any woman share a meaningful gift with someone who has been impactful in her life, a new mom learning the ropes, or a close loved one facing the joys and challenges of any stage and type of motherhood. Compiled with all women in mind so we can celebrate those who made us, shaped us, helped us grow, and loved us well, it’s a beautiful gift for the moms in your life.

Oh, Baby! Devotions for New Parents, from DaySpring, would also make a great gift for a new mom in your life! Each entry reminds you that God is close to you and is intimately interested in your feelings, worries, and fears surrounding parenthood. Discover how you can find peace, joy, and grace on this new journey and how God walks with you through every high and every low in Oh Baby!.

To help you celebrate the women and parents you love, we’re giving away FIVE gift bundles that include a copy of each book! Leave a comment on this post telling us about one such special parent in your life, and you’ll be entered to win a copy of A Mother’s Love and Oh, Baby!.

Giveaway is open to US addresses only and ends May 12, 2021 at 11:59pm CST.

No More Comparing and Despairing

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In my youth, friends were as ephemeral as mayflies. They’d last for a little while until my friends discovered someone cooler, and then I’d be alone again. Lunchtimes became my enforced quiet time because the only thing worse than being on my own was being on my own whilst watching my classmates laugh and enjoy each other’s company. I’d walk to the back of the school where no one could see me and watch the wind swirl through the palm trees as the cars zoomed by and tears stung my eyes. 

Recently, I introduced an old friend to a relatively new friend. The latter one’s friendship was one that made me proud — I couldn’t believe we were actually friends! But within minutes of the two of them getting to know each other, I felt like I was eleven again. All the insecurities of my youth flooded me. Suddenly, all I could focus on was how much funnier, brighter, smarter, and more thoughtful she was. I felt self-conscious, paralyzed by the fear of being left alone again. 

I kept thinking to myself, Straighten up, Sequeira! Stop comparing yourself! Stop thinking about yourself! But I couldn’t tighten the reins and stop those wild stallion thoughts. Over the next few days, the constant loop of comparison left me exhausted. I became so intimidated by my friend that I stopped speaking altogether.

I’m outmatched. I see the writing on the wall. I should bow out gracefully. 

The same muscle I use to compare myself in friendships is the one I use on a near daily basis, comparing myself to other chefs, mothers, TV personalities, believers, and wives. And more often than not, I find myself deeply wanting and retreat into myself. 

I don’t think I’m alone. Over the past few years, I’ve seen multiple Instagram graphics advising me that “comparison is the thief of joy” or to stop playing the “compare and despair” game. The only way out of the cycle, they suggest, is to simply stop comparing ourselves to others altogether.  

I don’t know about you, but that advice hasn’t worked for me. It strikes me as a little flip, as if stopping this behaviour is just that easy. Perhaps comparing ourselves isn’t the problem. Perhaps it’s more about whom we compare ourselves to and for what reason.

For example, I wouldn’t be half the cook and judge I am today if I didn’t watch, evaluate, and compare myself to my colleagues very intently. They inspire my hands, palate, and mind. When I worked in the newsroom, I compared my news stories to those of fellow journalists. I learned how to ascertain the veracity of a story, how to write with more accuracy and brevity. Heck, we learned how to walk, talk, eat, drink, love, fight, share, and build by comparing ourselves to our mother and father figures, to our siblings, and to people on TV. 

My theory is that comparison is inherent to human nature. But as with everything else in this world, comparison can be used for good or for evil. 

Ever since the Fall in the Garden of Eden, every human has felt a distinct less-than-ness. Human history is built on our effort to fill in that gap with achievement, wealth, love, religion, power, and acceptance from others. But perhaps what we’re really striving for is perfection. 

Jesus told us, “Therefore you are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48 NASB).

We were made in the image of God, that is, in the image of perfection. The standard for perfection was set by God, via the Law, and we were made to meet that standard. But we don’t, and the only one who ever did was Jesus.

When we compare ourselves to each other, we use earthly things to fill a divinely-hewn hole; they can never fully satisfy the emptiness. And so, if I’m going to compare myself to anyone, let it be with Perfection Himself — Jesus! When I turn my eyes to Him, when I compare my actions and reactions to His, a miraculous thing happens. Look at 2 Corinthians 3:18, with me: 

But we all, with unveiled faces, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the LORD, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory . . .

Fixing our eyes on Christ transforms us into His likeness — hallelujah! The more we compare ourselves to Christ, the more we long to be like Him. We rip our old muscles in order to build new, stronger ones. Our imperfections glare in the light of His perfection and shrink in the warmth of His embrace. 

After that incident with my two friends, I decided that whenever I’m tempted to compare myself, I will stop and take a breath. Instead of retreating inward, I will look up and see that my worth — as a friend, as a chef, as a mom or a wife — comes from the One who loves me. Instead of coveting the way God made someone else, I will name the ways God made me and praise Him for it.

And instead of placing too much emphasis on what people think of me, I will rest in knowing that He, whose opinion is paramount, already thinks I’m the bees’ knees and rejoices over me with singing! Instead of trying to quash my instincts to compare myself to others, I will compare myself to Perfection Himself. In doing so, I pray that His sweet correction will right the wrong perspectives of my heart and reassure me that even in my brokenness, He will use what could have been used for evil and transform it for good. 

The Mystery and Miracle of His Might

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In the middle of the night, when all is dark and all is calm, and I am tired and trying to hold open my heavy eyes, I behold my newborn son and gaze down upon his small silhouette, his little life. In the darkness, I feed him. I change him. I burp him. I cradle him. I lull him. When I am done and simply stay there to hold him, I feel his hand on mine. Holding my finger, he grasps to keep me in his grip. And though he is but two months old, his hold on my hand is unbelievably strong, and it is both a mystery and a miracle to feel the cling of his clutch wrapped around the thin of my finger.

One year ago, when the pandemic put a pause on the world, I found myself announcing that it did not put a pause on God’s plan for my family, for life swelled and swirled within me. It was a gift, even in the middle of so much grief. And I could not have known then that when I chose to name the child within, he would really live up to the meaning of his name — that even at two months old, he would show himself to be small but strong.

Aaro is his name. Of all the different variations of meaning his name holds, “mountain of strength” is the one we chose because we want for him to see himself just as a mountain — to see and know he is not a small or hidden or helpless thing.

On a day like today when I am thinking about the mystery and miracle of might showing through the smallness of my son, I cannot help but hear hope for the here and now: Those of us who feel small and insignificant and unseen are, in fact, seen and loved greatly by the One who created the greatest galaxies.

He sees us for who and how we are and shines through us with a strength we could never imagine ourselves.

Even as I write this, I feel small and spineless myself. Small, because I cannot stop the never-ending news of all of the recent disease and death. Small, because there is so much more work to do — work to do in the world and work to do within my own hurting and helpless heart.

But the gospel truth is that there is more to the story than just the way we feel and the way things seem.

Even while we come up feeling little from all of the living and loving and losing, our lives are still marked with the miraculous stories of God displaying His might through the small — of young David defeating giant Goliath, of Gideon’s three hundred victorious in battle against the thousands, of Jesus seeing the short man named Zacchaeus, of lost little coins and their significant worth, of the widow’s mite being more than enough, of a baby in Bethlehem born to bear witness to the greatness of God.

God’s might is the mystery and the miracle working in and through our smallness.

And it is never to shame us. Rather, it is to show us that He is powerfully compassionate, kind, and good.

So, here is a truth to behold, a truth to cling to as you strain for something to show for your smallness, something to cover and camouflage those things that make you feel any measure of less-than: Hold every feeling of insignificance, insecurity, and inadequacy in faith, knowing that the holy One who once came close to save you is also the One who looks deep within and esteems you.

Believe it in your bones, in your brain, and in your blood, however small or unseen you may feel.

Our God sees you, and He shines with might in and through you.

Where in your heart, body, mind, or soul have you been feeling small? What might help you believe that God sees you and holds you in high esteem?

File This Under “Things I Don’t Deserve”

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When we first moved into our house six years ago, I was 800 months pregnant with the last of four children. We had decided to do a complete renovation before we moved in (because we’re crazy), so add in the stress of sawdust and drywall and tile done wrong. It had already been a rough year of deciding to move across state lines to schools that could accommodate our special needs child. We were committed city folk who said we would never move to the suburbs, so we apparently love eating our words. Isn’t it funny how God continually shakes our identity so that we can only find it in Him?

But while grieving the loss of all these things and the changes they would bring, there was something I felt silly about mourning: the peony bush on the side of our old house that we’d be leaving behind. 

It should be noted that I had inherited them; it’s not like I planted them myself. But they brought me so much joy. They felt like an undeserved surprise, and I just didn’t want to leave them. If you know anything about peonies, they are gorgeous. They smell insanely delicious, and they are incredibly hard to grow from seed or bulb. They take years and years to bloom. They are finicky to transplant, and you can risk losing the whole thing. So I left them for the next person and told myself, Don’t complain. You have a great life. It’s just flowers!

We moved in late summer, quickly got settled, and had our precious baby — what a blur! Through summer, autumn, and winter, I became more and more comfortable in our new home and the neighborhood. As spring approached and we finally got to be outside again, I noticed some bushes against the back of the house and wondered what they would be (or were they overgrown weeds?). I hadn’t really noticed them sprouting up at all, what with my blurry eyes from a baby who never really slept great and spit up and down the back of my shirt and from the endless monotony that comes with telling three other children to “please wear pants.” 

But then, all of the sudden, there was a miraculous sighting. I gasped seeing six, huge peony bushes blooming! You better believe I watered those plants with my happy tears that minute. It was something God didn’t have to do — the binding up of the littlest wounds. Please file all these little extras under “Things I Don’t Deserve”: more inherited peony bushes which I never would have had the skill or patience to plant yet and the fact that they’ve been at every house we’ve moved to. It makes me believe God is after our joy more than we think, even after so many tired seasons, even after so much grief, even after so much waiting. 

Peonies give me a visual opportunity to remember God’s mercy and goodness when I’d like to believe I don’t deserve them. The gospel makes it clear that I’ve done nothing to inherit His riches, but here I am. And that day, I saw it in the abundance of peonies blooming behind our house.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.
Ephesians 2:8-9 (ESV)

I wish I wasn’t so human, but I alternate between entitlement and awe. And this is why I think God keeps specifically giving me tangible ways to understand His undeserved goodness: little bread crumbs along the way to help me find my way back home when I go off track and believe He’s forgotten me. 

A late spring frost is set to come through our way, so I cover up my peonies to protect them. As I do, I remember that I am owed nothing. I deserve nothing but have gained an incredible abundance in His kinship — so much so, I’ve been put in the will and have an inheritance in Christ! I spread out the sheets, feeling like I have to relinquish my blessings, but I remember it wasn’t me who put them here in the first place. I think it’s in the moments of receiving and giving up that we find Jesus the most — perhaps because He gave us the most by giving up the most. I cover the flowers as I cover myself in truth: His grace is sufficient to meet us in our waiting, relinquishing, and worries, and His abundance will never end.

No Holding Back, No Turning Back

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We all screamed with joy as we watched a plane fly above us. I remember that day so vividly. The sun was bright, almost blinding my eyes, that I had to cup my hand over my forehead. With the other hand, I pointed at the tiny dot high in the sky and told my cousins, “I am going to get to ride that soon!” Actually, I said it in Malayalam, the language of Kerala, India where I was born. My parents had just told us that we would be moving to the USA, and we would have to fly on an airplane to get there. I didn’t know much about America, but I had seen airplanes on television and I was so excited to ride one.

As a seven-year-old, I had no idea what my dream would cost. I would have to give up all my friends at St. Anne’s School, daily playtime with my cousins who lived next door, eating jackfruit and mangoes off the tree, seeing my new pet calf grow up, and much more.

It’s fun to dream and share our plans with others, but sometimes we forget that every new chapter in life, as amazing as it is, comes with a price tag. There are things we must give up in order to experience the fullness of what is ahead for us. And this is true when we decide to follow Jesus. In Luke 9:23, Jesus urges us to count the cost. He makes no compromise when it comes to discipleship: die to yourself, crucify your selfish desires, take up your cross, and follow me daily.

Being a disciple means giving up your life for life. No holding back. No turning back.

Jesus wants every part of our lives to be saturated by His love and to bring Him glory, but that requires sacrifice. Romans 12 teaches us that worship is presenting ourselves as living sacrifices. Paul tells us that this means we no longer follow the patterns of this world but live with a renewed mind that yearns for the perfect will of God. Dying to self isn’t behavior modification or following rules. It is living a life of surrender and obedience out of a deep desire and delight for Jesus. It is daily choosing to lay down our own agendas to follow the Good Shepherd. It is offering every part of our lives to the One who gave it all for us. 

When was the last time your following Jesus cost you something or you took a bold step of faith or gave up something for the sake of Christ?

It’s easy to go to church once a week, but it’s hard to read the Word daily or commit to tithing when the future seems uncertain. It’s easy to listen to a sermon on our commute, but it’s hard not to cuss out the crazy guy on the road or gossip about our neighbor. It’s easy to post a verse on social media, but it’s hard to live out its truth in the midst of pain and struggle.

In His grace, He calls us to Himself and wants us to live surrendered in full obedience to Him. Often, we are like the rich young ruler from Matthew 19:16-30, who did all the “right” things but wasn’t willing to give up all things for Jesus. The passage says that he went away disappointed.

Friends, we can have all the things and even do all the “right” things in our own eyes, but if we can’t fully surrender ourselves in obedience to Jesus, we won’t experience the full, abundant life God has for us. When Jesus called His first disciples to follow Him, they left everything to do so. Are we willing to respond likewise? 

As we rode on the plane to America, I looked down and saw the big coconut trees that outlined the coast of Kovalam and all the lights that twinkled and danced on the streets of Bombay. All of it seemed so small from up there. The things we have to give up and sacrifice may seem huge at the moment, but when we see it through the lens of God’s love, we will understand that nothing compares to Him. All the beauty, fleeting pleasures, and glamorous moments of this world pale in comparison to living a life walking with Jesus.

Weakness Is Spelled
S-T-R-E-N-G-T-H

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Don’t do it, Kathi. Do. Not. Do. It, I hiss to myself in my brain.

But I can’t (or don’t know how to) help myself.

I look around the room of this new situation, whether it’s attending a church for the first time, meeting with a work team, or even just entering a Starbucks. I try to take in all the smiling faces, the welcoming greetings, and the openness I am being met with. Everyone is being awesome.

And still, I cannot help myself.

I finish looking at each person in the space and come to the same conclusion almost every single time: I am the biggest girl in the room.

Sorry, the guys don’t count. Guys get to be big. They get a pass. Girls? Not so much.

I’ve often wondered what it would be like for people to not know one of my biggest weaknesses even before we meet. (Don’t we meet most people on Instagram or Zoom before in person these days? And let me tell you, camera angles can only do so much.) I go into every situation knowing other people already have information about me that I would rather keep to myself, thank you very much.

People, who love me most reassure me, “No one is thinking that! You’re awesome!” And as much as they aren’t thinking it (because they don’t see that part of me first anymore), I have evidence that others do see it:

“Beached whale.”
“Fat slob.”
“Sumo wrestler.”

And those are just things that have been said aloud.

I don’t understand why this is an area I have wrestled with all my life. Yes, I know there is heredity. I come from a long line of “sturdy” folk. But why couldn’t my weakness be for kale? (“Just can’t get enough of the stuff! Yum!”) Or hiking too much? Why does my weakness need to be the first thing people see when I walk through the door?

But no, my weakness is of the variety where I shop in “specialty stores” and whenever someone on my friends list signs up to be a distributor of a new weight-loss product, I am put on their “potential client” list. (In other words, one of their “fat friends.”)

I’m the person who was told by another friend when I was having success losing weight, “Don’t lose more than the rest of us!” I get it. It isn’t fun being the biggest girl in the room. We’d much rather someone else play that role.

If you too are one of the  ________est women in a room, (fill in the blank), I get it. And friend, I have some good news for you.

One thing I’ve discovered is that while people see my weakness first, weakness isn’t always a bad thing for others to notice. I can’t tell you the number of times someone has said some variation of the following to me, without getting to know me:

“I could tell you wouldn’t judge me.”
“I’m having a hard time, and I thought you would understand.”
“I knew you would get it.”

These are people who don’t know a thing about me. Do I love my husband? Do I put my grocery cart away at the end of a visit to Target? How do I treat my dog? They don’t know, because they don’t know me.

But I’ve been given unearned access into hard places simply because of my BMI.

People are looking to others to find safety in sharing their own pain. My weakness, to some people, is the shortcut to safe.

God can and will do powerful things through those of us who give our weakness over to Him. 2 Corinthians 12:9‑10 (NLT) says:

 Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

I am not glorifying weakness, but God’s glory shines brightest in weakness.

Do I want to stay stuck? The amount of time, money, and heartbreak I’ve spent on counseling and programs would suggest not. But just because I don’t want to stay in my weakness doesn’t mean God cannot — and will not — use it for His glory.

I Have Seen the Lord

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My friend Jill died in my dream last night. It happens fairly periodically actually. See, in real life, it’s been 520 days since she went to be with Jesus.

Some days, it feels like she left years ago because there are so many big and little things that she’s missed. She died before the pandemic, and I often wonder what her commentary would be about a world that hoards toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

But other days? I feel like it just happened — like I just got the text that she died as the sun was setting over the Atlantic.

Last night’s dream was so clear I could tell you every detail, but the storyline was this: We were together and things were fine and then she left again. We stood there — in a cemetery, no less — and we talked for a while and then, we both knew she had to go. I held on to her for the time I could, but then, she died. We had a memorial service for her again, and I went back to the world without her.

You don’t lose someone and then move on with the healing in a linear way. Rather, it resurfaces over and over, and you have to face it time and time again. The grief has a tendency to show up when she would have — a birthday or holiday or when a Facebook memory pops up in my newsfeed. Other times, it’s more nuanced. I feel her absence when I need advice about ministry or when I can’t find a bra that actually fits. She always knew things I just didn’t.

I opened my eyes this morning and as a new wave of sadness rolled over me, I rolled out of bed and tried to shake the recent death I’d witnessed while I slept. And then, I remembered Mary in the garden, looking for Jesus.

She stands there in John 20:11 in the early morning hours. There’s still dew on the ground, and the air smells like dirt. She was in the early days of loss, so I imagine she’s sleep-deprived and puffy-eyed, no appetite and restlessly moving around like a ghost.

When Jesus approaches her, she doesn’t seem to understand it’s Him. His presence is so unexpected that she does not consider He’d be the person she’d bump into. But when He said her name, she looked up and reached out to embrace Him.

Her instinct was to pull Him close, perhaps to keep Him there — not unlike me in my dream last night, clinging to Jill, feeling her ribs pressed against mine.

That human ache to hold on is what I can’t get out of my head.

Jesus tells Mary that she needs to go tell the others that He is alive. So she slowly pulls away, probably speechless. She stumbles back and turns and runs as fast as her shaking legs will take her, making her way back to the others with bags under their eyes and grief in their hearts. And then, she says these words in verse 18: “I have seen the Lord.”

I wish with everything in me that I could tell you that I really saw Jill, that she was really there and we were really together. But the truth is, I didn’t, and we weren’t. My mind saw her and held her, but when I woke up with the cool breeze coming in along with early morning light, I was alone.

So I go back to John 20, and I read this story over and over again, remembering these things: One day, I’ll see Jill again. I don’t know what it’ll be like or if we’ll even care about each other in light of the glory of God. But I like to believe that we will stand there and truly embrace, feeling the ribs of our resurrected bodies press together with lungs that are breathing and hearts that are beating. And perhaps her first words to me will be, “I have seen the Lord.”

Let Go of What Costs You Your Peace

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I was thirty years old, pregnant, with a great job, a wonderful husband, a nice home, and a promising future in my career.

And I was miserable. I had no peace.

I know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, at least not on the surface. But someone reading these words right now knows that life can look pretty on the outside but be a tangled ball of Christmas lights on the inside.

I was a news reporter at the time, and my life was spent moving from one news assignment to another: tornadoes, homicides, political rallies, plane crashes. I was fueled by caffeine and adrenaline. If I slowed down enough to get honest with myself — which rarely happened — I knew that my push for success was costing me my peace. But as my belly grew bigger, I began to finally ponder what would happen if I kept running at the pace that I was running.

If I wasn’t going to slow down for myself, I at least needed to slow down for this tiny human growing inside of me.

Then she was born. I was undone immediately. I knew there was no going back to the life that I once idolized. My husband and I decided we would move back to the farm, and I think we even shocked ourselves when we spoke the words out loud.

We definitely shocked our friends.

They couldn’t believe we would leave behind dream careers and the adventurous lives we were living. They told us things like,

“You’re wasting your potential.”
“You’re throwing away your career.”

There were times I asked myself if they were right. But then I started asking myself a different question: “What if they’re wrong?” Because they weren’t the ones who were paying the price for our accelerated pace of life. We were.

Our way of life was costing us our peace, and we had to make a change.

The Bible tells us to “let the peace of Christ rule” in our hearts (Colossians 3:15), but I know that the opposite is often true. We can get so busy chasing a certain kind of life that we accidentally allow chaos to rule in our hearts.

It’s Sunday today — a day set aside for rest. Take a moment on this set-aside day of rest to get honest with yourself. Explore where your heart is at peace, and where your heart is in chaos.

If you don’t have peace about the job, the boyfriend, the career transition, the bad habit, the stress in your life, the _______________ [you fill in the blank], push pause right now. Ask yourself: “What would it look like to make a change?”

I know you might be thinking that you can’t afford to push pause at the moment. Who’s got time for that? But what if you can’t afford to not to.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the things that are costing you your peace.

Let go of the things that cause undue stress.
Let go of the things that keep you awake at night.
Let go of the habits that help you cope and numb.
Let go of the scrolling that just makes you more on edge.

And then, grab hold of the things that bring you joy. Grab hold of the habits that make you healthier. Grab hold of the relationships that make you more of who God made you to be. Grab hold of your faith, your family, your hope, your peace.

I know that it can be hard to make a switch, even in the little things. Give yourself a little bit of grace and a little bit of time (but not too much time). The loss of peace doesn’t happen overnight, and it doesn’t always come back with the snap of your fingers. Honestly, it took years for me to trade chaos for peace. But it happened, one decision at a time, one step at a time.

I believe the same is possible for you. Step by step, decision by decision, trade your heart of chaos for a heart ruled by the peace of Christ.

Does the World Seem Dark? Here’s the Hope You Need Today

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The rough wooden boardwalk is cool beneath my feet as I make my way to the sand. The sky is still the thick, deep blue of night, and gray shadows sway in the salty wind. I sleepily take my husband’s hand. I’m not a morning person, but we’re on vacation and I’m determined to see the sun climb like a rising warrior above the waves at least once.

As we get closer to the shore, we can see more people who have decided to forsake pillows for flip-flops along with us. They sit on huge pieces of stranded driftwood, stroll along the edge of the water with cameras in hand, or sip from coffee cups with dazed looks on their faces. I notice one woman lifting her eyes to the still-night sky, and I am curious. What does she see?

When I follow her example, I am greeted by diamonds thrown out on velvet. One star in particular winks brilliantly back at me. I find out later it’s actually the planet Venus, otherwise known as the Morning Star. Here is its mystery and beauty: Venus is known for rising in the darkest part of the night, just before dawn. Jesus said, “I am the . . . bright Morning Star” (Revelation 22:16). This means, among other things, He is not afraid of the deepest dark.

He is not frightened by the secret places in our hearts. The ones that haven’t seen daylight for years. The kind with the locks on the doors. The sort we don’t say out loud or even fully admit to ourselves. He is not running scared from the tragedies in our lives. He is not backing away from the brokenness and the bitterness and the shattered dreams. He is not intimidated by the monsters under our beds or inside our minds. He is not avoiding the struggles or the addictions. He is not waving His hands in surrender to the enemies of our souls. He is not saying, “This is too much for me.”

Jesus is not afraid to step right into the night, not afraid to even dwell in the middle of it, because He is light. And in Him, there is not darkness at all.

This means darkness can surround Him, and He cannot be defeated or diminished by it. He came as a baby into a midnight world and announced His arrival with a shining star. He conquered death in a dark tomb and rolled the stone away, making a way into the brightness for all of us. In the thickest gloom, the Morning Star rose.

In our story of humanity, it feels like we are in a Morning Star moment right now, the darkest part of the night, just before dawn. We have come through a time of fear and isolation, division and destruction, mourning and waiting, hoping, praying. So we need to know that when Jesus said, “I am the bright Morning Star,” it means He is here with us in times like this one. He is the hope we can cling to, the light that has come and is coming, the One who will usher in a new day.

“His mercies never end. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23). As I watch the sun slip into the morning sky and fill it with gold and flame, I bear witness that these words are true. Venus, the Morning Star that foreshadowed all this light and blazing glory, seems to be more than just a planet; it suddenly also seems to be a promise — a daily reminder from the heart of our Creator that even the deepest night will lead to dawn. The dark cannot win; the light will never be overcome.

If you’d like more encouragement like this, you’ll find it in Holley Gerth’s new ebook, Fear, I’m Over You: A 21-Day Challenge to Live with Less Worry and More Courage.

Introducing Six New (in)courage Contributors!

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Can Christmas in April be a thing? Because today sure feels like it. We are like giddy sisters jumping out of our skin in excitement to share with you the gift of six new (in)courage writers! (Cue poppers and twinkle lights!)

For quite a while, we’ve felt like it was time to widen the circle and ask more women to pile into the (in)courage living room. We picture this virtual living room full of couches, overstuffed chairs, comfy floor pillows — a place where we can always scooch over to make more room, a place for belly laughter and passing boxes of tissues to catch our tears. In the living room, we lean in to hear stories that affirm our own experiences and to learn from perspectives unlike our own. Most importantly, this is a space that focuses on Jesus. We lean on each other’s shoulders and lift one another’s faces so that we can all see and remember that God is with us — right here, right now, always.

At (in)courage, we value building community, celebrating diversity, and becoming women of courage. There’s no doubt the six writers joining the (in)courage team will help us continue to do just that. Their voices, their stories, their words of joy and struggle and encouragement will be gifts we hope you enjoy unwrapping all year long.

Without further ado, please join us in welcoming six new contributors to the (in)courage living room! Let’s get to know them a bit in their own words.

Aarti Sequeira:


Hi! My name is Aarti Sequeira, and if you heard me talking to you right now, you might have trouble placing the accent! Let me explain: I’m a third-culture kid — my soul is forever rooted in India where I was born, with blossoms in the Middle East where I grew up and attended a British-run school (which gave me an incredible education and the Queen’s accent), and now bearing fruit in the ultimate biryani pot, the United States. I’m married to a Boston Irish-American man, Brendan, my college sweetheart. We have two delightful daughters, Eliyah and Moses. We just uprooted ourselves from Los Angeles, our home of twenty years, to Raleigh, North Carolina. And of course, the most important identity of all, I was saved in my twenties by the one and only Jesus, and I have chased His heart ever since.

As a Food Network host and cookbook author, I try to take the unfamiliar and weave them into the familiar, drawing inspiration from spice bazaars, farmers markets, grandmothers, and chefs I love, all whilst singing His praises for giving us tastebuds and dinner tables. I see cooking as a privilege, a peek into the joy God feels when He creates.

My hope though is that you’ll get to know me as more than just a food-obsessed TV personality. I struggle with insecurity and imposter syndrome and have only recently trampled on the tentacles of postpartum depression. I simultaneously feel ill-equipped for dealing with the tensions of the world, and hopeful that I — that all of us — have been made for such a time as this. I’m praying that as I weep at His feet or run to His arms in fear or shake my fist at Him in anger, I may find you running along the same path. And I pray we’ll all find comfort, truth, and succor at the throne of the ever-living Almighty God. Glory glory glory.

Jami Nato:

Hello new friends! I am Jami Nato, here in the lush tropics of Kansas City. I have been married for twelve or fifteen years (I cannot remember numbers), have four children (ranging from fourteen to sixteen years old), and really like using parentheses! I am what I like to call “multi-passionate” as I like to renovate homes, be an entrepreneur, perpetually write a book I might never release, and run a coffee shop even though I don’t drink coffee (Why am I weird?). I tend to discuss heavier topics like our infidelity story or raising a special needs kiddo and then swing into humor, giving everyone a gentle whiplash for the day. I particularly love making light of items while shopping at Target, including and not limited to the unbearable swimsuit section each year in which the options range from 3 strings loosely tied to triangles or a full-body snorkel suit.

However people come to see me online or in person, I hope mostly they see I’m a soft landing place for the gospel. We all are so tired and wounded (especially after the year we’ve been in) and I want people to know that God’s love is for them — even now, especially now. I hope you get some laughs, but more than anything, I hope your love for God grows after you spend time with me.

Kathi Lipp:


Hey friends, I’m Kathi. And like most of us, my life is defined by contradictions:

  • I’ve lived my whole life in the tech capital of Silicon Valley but ran away last year to the mountains with 2002-quality internet.
  • I’m a full-time writer, who is severely dyslexic (thank God for editors).
  • I love Jesus and sometimes struggle to make Him a part of my day-to-day life.

Yeah, I have issues. And if, by any chance, you do too, we’re going to get along just fine.

I’m crazy in love with my husband Roger (second marriage for both of us). When I’m not writing or podcasting about my favorite topic, clutter, and there isn’t a pandemic, we’re hosting writers, church leaders, and friends at our retreat center, The Red House, in the Sierra Nevada mountains with our ten-pound livestock guardian dog Moose and a bunch of chickens (Pictured is Pepper, who thinks she’s a rooster. Yeah, we all have issues.).

I’m honored to be here, and I’m looking forward to doing life and issues and Jesus with all of you.

Melissa Zaldivar:

Well, hey from Massachusetts! I’m Melissa and I grew up in California, went to school in Chicago, worked in the South, and now New England is home. I’m a proud aunt to seven nieces and a nephew and spend my free time walking around farms, hanging out with my friends at the Antique Store, and trying to capture everything in photos, film, and words. When we’re not in a pandemic, I also work as a tour guide at Orchard House, the home of Little Women. I’m a fan of anything historical, literary, and theological, but I also can get behind a good sandwich, belting to 90’s lady country in my car and making ridiculous Instagram stories. I’m single and grateful and certain that life is still plenty full without a ring on my finger (though I wouldn’t be mad about it if the right guy came along.)

The last two years have been some of the hardest as I’ve faced a whole lot of loss, grief, and loneliness, but I’m realizing that Jesus can be found in the rubble, too. We don’t need abundance to experience the abundant love of Christ, and He delights in us, even when it’s dark. Oh, and I also wrote a book and have a podcast, but honestly? They’re the least interesting thing about my life.

Rachel Kang:


Let’s skip the small talk and share stories from the heart, yeah? My name is Rachel, but everyone who knows and loves me calls me Rae. I love deep and live hard, and I have a treasure chest spilling over with journals to prove it. I’m a New York girl living in North Carolina with my husband and two boys. I am a Manhattan mural of my own, swirling with African American, Native American, Irish, and Dutch descent. I didn’t always use my words to do good. I once filled pages of journals with soliloquies and secrets — ugly words spoken from the dark and deep inside of me. But then the Light broke through like a dawning sunrise, and now people tell me that my words help them breathe deep and feel known, and, really, that’s all I care to have my life count for.

I’m the creator of Indelible Ink Writers, an online community prompting people like you to bring forth bare words and brave art, and my first book on creativity as calling comes out next year! When I’m not playing hide-and-seek between the pages of a book, you’ll find me cupping porcelain filled with tea, all while writing poems, prose, and other pieces. And, sisters, it’s all joy, knowing my story is now colliding with all of yours.

Simi John:

My name is Simi. It’s not short for anything — just short and sweet like me (insert cheesy smile). For a long time I hated that my name was unique but didn’t have any meaning in my native Indian language. A few years ago, I discovered that in Hebrew Simi means abundance, and I was thrilled because my calling has always been to help people step into the abundant life that Jesus died to give them. My passion is to equip women to know who they are and live faithfully right where they are!

I was born in India, raised in Texas, and now I live in Oklahoma where my husband and I pastor a local church.  We have two beautiful little humans, so naturally, I require a lot of coffee and chai. I also work as a full-time physical therapist. In my spare time (what?), I enjoy speaking and writing. In 2020 I published my first devotional, I Am Not: Break Free from Stereotypes & Become the Woman God Made You To Be. I love Jesus more than I can say, but to know that He loves me — all of me, not just the Instagram highlight reel — just blows my mind. I can’t wait to share with you about His love and grace in this space on the internet.

______________________________________________________________

Anyone else wishing we could all pile into an actual living room right now for celebratory ice-cream sundaes and a big group hug? In the absence of being together in person, we give thanks for the gift of being connected as sisters in Christ in spirit. May God continue to knit our hearts together as His imperfect but perfectly-loved daughters.

Next week these six amazing women will each share their first article as an (in)courage contributor, so be sure to check back every day to continue to get to know them and be encouraged!

 

Strong Enough to Lean In

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In the last few months I’ve had a fractured elbow, a gum tissue graft, and a massive infected cyst removed from my neck. For the love! It’s been so many weird and painful things in a row. With my kids doing distance learning for over a year and most of our activities on hold or on Zoom, we haven’t had as much as a cold in our household and then bam! — all the weird health things. No, nothing life-threatening or too scary, certainly not in comparison to situations others are facing, and because they’re not as bad as what others are indeed going through, it’s been easy to downplay these health issues I’ve been experiencing. But they aren’t nothing. They have been a big deal. My daily life has been impacted, and I’ve sure been miserable, in pain, and rendered pretty helpless at some points along the way.

It feels like I should be used to attending medical procedures alone. After all, I had a pandemic pregnancy and baby — who, by the way, is already seven months old. You’d think that with him being my fourth child, I’d be used to the swift passing of time especially during this first year of his life, but it turns out, I’m not used to it. Turns out it’s still bittersweet to see babies grow so quickly, and it’s still hard for me to walk into appointments alone, even ones that should be simple.

Really, I’m not used to anything, including asking for help, accepting care, and taking a break, and these past few months, I’ve had to do all of the above. My husband has faithfully bandaged, unpacked, cleaned, and re-bandaged the surgical site on my neck, which I could not see or reach. My daughter brushed my hair while my arm was wrapped in a sling. My sister dropped off headbands that would keep my postpartum baby hairs out of the medical tape on my neck, and my friend sent coffee money when the baby stopped sleeping and my mouth, swollen and stitched, could only handle icy liquids.

On the home front, we have extensively supported our local economy with our takeout orders. Grocery pickup has been a lifeline. I have given thanks that my husband and I still work from home. All of those things have made life easier, which in turn helped make the pain bearable.

While I am not great at accepting it all, I am learning that in a way, being dependent is a good thing. My friend Amanda calls it being “strong enough to lean.” How smart is that? And so, lean I will, right into the arms that hold the strongest. I’m learning to lean in, depend on, and accept the care God is offering us all the time. And that care reminds me of a mom.

Think about the best mom you know. Maybe it’s your own mother or a friend. Maybe it’s a lady at church. If you went to her in a frazzled and overwhelmed state, what would she tell you to do to take care of yourself?

Most likely, she would make sure you’re comfortable on the couch, perhaps with a fuzzy blanket. She’d get you a glass of water. Then she might advise you to take a shower. Go to sleep. Turn off the TV. Stop scrolling. Close the laptop. Call a friend. Wear clean clothes. Laugh. Read a book. Eat food that helps your body and have dessert. Forgive yourself. Forgive the other person.

The care that this amazing mom offers? That is what God offers to us.

God wants to care for us like the best mother there ever was — ready to help put our minds at ease, invite us to practices that help our whole selves, and/or give us a kick in the pants to shake it off and get moving. Maybe a combination of it all because that might be what we really need.

Just as a mother constantly thinks about and cares for her children, God does the same for us. Psalm 139:17-18 says:

How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
They cannot be numbered!
I can’t even count them;
they outnumber the grains of sand!

God thinks of us more often than there are grains of sand. He cares for us, and He’d like us to care for ourselves too. That care might look like a doctor’s appointment to check on that weird thing, or it might look like drinking that glass of water, or going to bed early, or praying when you worry. It might also look like accepting help and care, admitting when things are a big deal and when we need to be taken care of.

Let’s be strong enough to lean in — to God and others — and let’s do what we need to do to take care of ourselves well.

Traveling the Globe from the Comfort of Home

by

Sometimes when life hands you lemons, you have to make lemon meringue pie. Or maybe you go all in for lemon primavera pasta or a French lavender-infused lemon tart or Mediterranean garlic-lemon chicken kebabs! Well, you get the idea. Make lemonade if you have to, but don’t sit around feeling sour.

This past December, we were supposed to be heading to the airport to catch our flight to the Big Island of Hawaii. This was a special trip my husband Shawn and I booked for the week after Christmas as a gift to our three daughters and my parents. After almost a year of sheltering-at-home and changing plans because of the global pandemic, we thought maybe we could squeeze in an end-of-the-year, we-survived-the-craziness vacation. Our family has Polynesian roots, and we were eager to visit the place where my grandparents had met.

We knew we were taking a risk, but we were hopeful. (And the airline said our tickets were fully refundable.) We already canceled plans earlier in the year to visit friends in Germany and travel to France. I also canceled a work trip to Cabo, Mexico and plans to attend a conference in Michigan at my alma mater.

Alas, COVID-19 numbers surged in California in December. Our governor asked people to cancel their travel plans and stay home for the holidays. Hospitals were full to capacity across the state. We finally decided it was best to cancel our trip to Hawaii and hunker down at home.

Needless to say, we were all disappointed. I have to admit this travel-loving, adventure-seeking mama right here was beyond discouraged, frustrated, and shed some tears over this one. My soul was weary by the end of 2020.

That Sunday — the day before we were supposed to depart — my sweet husband suggested we host a luau at home. “If we can’t go to Hawaii, let’s bring Hawaii to them,” he said.

He encouraged me to order some Hawaiian barbecue from a local restaurant and pick out a movie to watch as a family. I perked up a bit. Sounded fun! I needed a diversion to lift me from my sadness of having to cancel four much-anticipated trips that year and my own cabin fever.

When I shared the idea with my girls and parents, they took it to the next level. My fourteen-year-old, who spent the first decade of her life traveling internationally and doing missions work with her dad and me, suggested we explore a different country each day of our vacation. She started a spreadsheet and a Pinterest board right away. I hauled out my international cookbook collection, and we all started planning not just a luau but a virtual trip around the world.

An idea was born: traveling the globe from the comfort of home.

We spent Christmas break trying out new recipes, reading books aloud, watching movies in the evenings, and discussing snippets of history we were learning about the different people groups and countries. What started as disappointing turned into a wonderful two weeks of exploration.

Our circumstances challenged us to consider why we love traveling and learning about other cultures so much. We believe God uniquely created each one of us in His image. If we want to grow in our understanding of God, we need to grow in our knowledge about each other.

In college, I spent a semester in Costa Rica and traveled throughout Central America. I delighted in new foods like gallo pinto, tres leches cake, and refresco drinks made from all kinds of fruits we did not have in the United States. As I honed my Spanish language skills, I also gained a greater knowledge and respect for Central American history. Although I do not have any Central American roots, I felt somehow at home in these cultures.

After college, I took a missions trip to Haiti. I fell in love with the people there, especially the children who were so inquisitive and innovative with very few resources. I eventually moved to Haiti to teach English to pastors and started a non-profit there with my late husband. My Haitian sisters and brothers taught me about perseverance and courage, and my faith deepened as I witnessed their exuberant faith.

As Paul illuminates in Romans 12 and 1 Corinthians 12, God created each one of us as unique parts of the same body. Each part of the body plays an important role and function. We need each other because our differences serve as an invitation to experience the nuanced glory of God.

Yes, the body has many different parts, not just one part. If the foot says, “I am not a part of the body because I am not a hand,” that does not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear says, “I am not part of the body because I am not an eye,” would that make it any less a part of the body? If the whole body were an eye, how would you hear? Or if your whole body were an ear, how would you smell anything? But our bodies have many parts, and God has put each part just where he wants it.
1 Corinthians 12:14-18 (NLT)

We all may have to consider travel a little differently moving forward. And yet, it’s important that we still open our hearts to what we might learn from all image bearers of God. When we explore the food, culture, music, and history of people around the world, we gain a greater experience of God’s Kingdom.

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Dorina’s family curated a robust list of books, recipes, music, dances, games, and video recommendations for your family to learn about countries and cultures you might not be able to visit in today’s circumstances. Global Glory Chasers was created in partnership with Dr. Lucretia Berry, founder of Brownicity. Global Glory Chasers will be a monthly membership program housed in the Brownicity learning community for learners of all ages.

Join the monthly membership program to travel the world from the comfort of your home! 

And to celebrate, Dorina and Lucretia are giving away a FREE 3-month membership to Global Glory Chasers AND a signed copy of Dorina’s children’s book, Cora Cooks Pancit!* To enter, tell us in the comments which country you’d like to learn about, and we’ll choose one lucky winner!

Then tune in tomorrow, April 29th, at 4:00 pm CST on Facebook for a live conversation with Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young and Becky Keife as they discuss this fabulous new course.

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and ends 11:59 pm CST on May 1, 2021.